


signs and wonders

by scrunchyharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adultery, Adulthood, Alternate Universe - Future, Coming Out, Future Fic, M/M, Parenthood, Photographer Harry, School Reunion, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14290320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrunchyharry/pseuds/scrunchyharry
Summary: On the surface, it looks like Louis Tomlinson has the perfect life; after all, he has the whole package: a white picket fence house (well, his doesn’t technically have a white picket fence, but work with him), a wife, a daughter and a dog. He has it all and he’s not even 30, yet.On the surface, he could be the happiest man in the world.The thing is, he never wanted this life. There was this boy, see, this Harry Styles, whose arrival made Louis question everything he thought he knew about himself. Before Louis could pursue it, though, before he could be brave and ask the boy out, one moment of bad luck on prom night, one single lapse of judgment, shaped his life in a way he never would have chosen. Between doing the right thing or turning into his own absent father, he knew what he had to do, even if it meant burying his dreams under the weight of a premature adulthood.That is, until he receives an invitation for his school’s ten year reunion and sees that Harry will attend.Could it be his second chance at happiness? At what cost?





	signs and wonders

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest, guys, I didn't think I'd finish it on time. I'd been thinking about it for months, but when I sat down and planned it in the fall, I overestimated my writing speed and the end result is not exactly what I had in mind, but I love it anyway. I just knew I had to do everything I could to take part in this big bang, I just love, love, love big bangs.
> 
> I was blessed with an amazing artist, the wonderful [suddenlyclarityharry](http://suddenclarityharry.tumblr.com/) who really understood the heart of this fic and made me a moodboard that was everything I could hope for.
> 
> A big shout out to [greenblueandniamtoo](http://greenblueandniamtoo.tumblr.com) for beta'ing my baby, straightening every little _French-is-my-first-language-actually_ wrinkles that slipped in.
> 
> Now, it's time to set the mood. Despite the title coming from "The Only Thing" by Sufjan Stevens, the main song that was running through my head was "Slow Show" by The National.
> 
> So put it on [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/6vmvNj64lOYWs3Vs4vZbgv), or listen to the cover that I almost prefer [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/6mLPF3TBqzHJQECpjXHLEm), get in the mood, and enjoy the read!

**2019**

Mornings are tough. Louis has never been a morning person, he’s always dreaded the sound of his alarm going off, but lately he’s been trying to get back in shape and that means waking up before the sun has even risen to go for a jog. He _hates_ jogging, more than he hates mornings, but between his job and this whole ‘being a good father’ thing, the only time he has to try and melt away years of beer and chips is before six o’clock. _In the morning_.

With a grunt, Louis reaches blindly for his phone to shut off the alarm before it wakes up Eleanor and she uses it as an excuse to start a row. Quietly, he slips out of bed and grabs his running clothes from the armchair where he left them and heads for the bathroom. The sound of his footsteps echo through the house and he winces, hoping he won’t wake up Violet and have to stay in to cook her breakfast.

Once changed, he makes his way to the living room to get Clifford, his black labradoodle, ready for the run. Taking the dog along with him has helped his motivation immensely: suddenly, he’s not only doing it for himself, but for his best pal, too.

The fact that his best friend genuinely is his dog is not something he likes to dwell on.

Louis ties up his trainers and then grabs Clifford’s leash from its hook by the front door and calls him over, clipping the leash to his collar before heading outside in the cold, cloying morning mist. Louis takes a second to commiserate a bit more on how much he hates jogging before he stretches and sets off, the dog tagging along with enthusiasm.

He _hates_ jogging, but he despises the way his body has bloated in the past few years even more, and so, he jogs. What he likes, though, is the space it gives him to be alone with his thoughts. That half-hour, that dreadful half-hour, he is truly alone and he can think with a clarity he never has time for during the rest of his day. Still, his thoughts are usually centred around the tedium of his daily life, around the cupcakes he needs to bake for Violet’s class and about taking an appointment to check why his shit, second-hand car sounds like a handful of coins are rattling inside of it; he makes grocery lists and thinks about his job and the timetable he needs to update, and all of that noise works wonderfully to drown out any reflexion he might have about the very fabric of his life.

The thing is, it’s better if he never questions whether he’s happy or not.

He jogs around his neighbourhood until he feels like his lungs are on fire and his legs have liquefied, and then he walks the long way home, cutting across a vacant lot and giving Clifford a long enough leash to explore the high grass a little bit.

He gets home just after seven and fills Clifford’s bowl with fresh water before gulping down a tall glass himself, sweat making his thin clothes stick to his skin. He heads upstairs and makes a beeline for the bathroom, hurrying through his shower routine before Eleanor wakes up and bangs on the door to make him get out. The warm water eases the tension in his sore muscles and he sighs, enjoying his last minutes of calm before his day truly starts.

The second he turns off the water, the door opens and in comes Eleanor, hair sleep-mussed and a crease from her pillowcase printed on her cheek. Louis steps out of the shower to let her get in, barely glancing at her as she shrugs off her nightgown. They don’t greet each other. Louis sighs.

He makes quick work of shaving before moving to his bedroom to get dressed. A quick look at the clock on Eleanor’s night stand tells him that he’s five minutes late waking Violet and he curses under his breath, knowing already that they’ll have to run to get her to school in time. He indulged in the shower for too long.

Entering her dark bedroom, Louis walks up to her bed and sits on its edge to stroke her cheek softly. “Hey, chipmunk, it’s time to wake up,” he whispers.

Violet grunts and pushes his hand away. She hates mornings as much as her father; pride swells inside of Louis.

“I know,” he says, chuckling under his breath. “I agree. But come on, up and at it.” He pats her cheek before standing up to open the curtains. The pale, sickly light of morning streams in, washing out the colours of her bright green walls. “Mum cleaned your uniform last night and she’d like it very much if you could refrain from dropping an entire plate of spaghetti down your hand-wash-only blazer from now on.”

Violet groans again and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, ‘it wasn’t my fault,’ her words swallowed by her pillow.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, babe. I need you downstairs in ten minutes if you want plaits.”

With that, he leaves his daughter’s bedroom and makes his way to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. He puts the kettle on for tea and then starts up the toaster with the toasts that Eleanor will grab in a hurry in a few minutes, already halfway out of the door. Mornings are Louis’ responsibility.

He butters the pieces of toast and set them out on a plate before putting another pair in the toaster, this time for Violet to munch on while he plaits her hair into her favourite hairstyle of the moment, two French plaits like her aunt Lottie often wears. Louis wonders whether his daughter realises how lucky she is that her father grew up with five sisters.

Violet walks in exactly eleven minutes later and Louis rolls his eyes at her small rebellion. He pours her a cup of tea and prepares it like she prefers before bringing her breakfast over and starting his work on her hair.

“Dad, you remember I’m going to Mel’s house after school, yeah?” she asks around a bite of bread.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. And yes.”

“And then we’re going over to Nan’s house to help her with Auntie Doris and Uncle Ernest.”

Louis winces. “Don’t call them that, you know I hate it. It’s weird. You’re older than them, V.”

“They’re still my aunt and uncle! It’s not my fault you had me when you were 18,” she replies in a tone of voice that reminds Louis of himself. Only nine years old and already picking up her father’s worst traits.

“Nothing’s your fault this morning, is it?” he asks, tugging on one of her plaits teasingly before he goes to make his own breakfast. “But yeah, Nan’s having you for dinner tonight, Mum and I have to work late. I’ll pick you up in the evening.”

Violet nods and sips her tea. “Did I tell you what Mel told me yesterday?”

Louis shakes his head no. “What did she tell you?”

Before Violet can answer, Eleanor barges in, her coat slung over her arm. “Where’s—oh, good,” she says, picking up her pieces of toast. “Bye, doll,” she says, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Violet’s head before hurrying out of the house, slamming the front door shut, leaving a trail of Chanel No. 5 in her wake.

Louis can’t figure out if she’s giving him the cold shoulder or if she has just stopped trying. He shuts his eyes for a second before opening them again, smiling at Violet. “What did Mel say, then?”

Violet grins. “She says she’s jealous that my mum and dad are so young and that she thinks you’re really fit for a dad.”

The words sting more than Louis is willing to admit. _Fit for a dad_. That’s another thought to push away.

“Do you think it’s cool that Mum and I are young?” Louis replies with a smirk, his eyes crinkling.

She makes a show of rolling her eyes. “No. I don’t see how it changes anything. You’re just my parents.”

Louis rolls his eyes in return, mocking her disgust. “alright, that’s quite enough sass for this morning. _Just your dad_ would like you to go brush your teeth, now.”

While she runs upstairs, Louis fills the dishwasher and then checks his phone for the first time that day. He always dreads checking it, in case he has messages from someone at work saying they can’t come in.

What he has, that morning, is a Facebook invitation to an event from someone he doesn’t know. With a frown, Louis opens it, wondering who in the world that person is. He freezes when he sees the name of the event: _Hallcross Academy Ten Year Reunion!_

‘No,’ is the first thought to cross Louis’ mind. He has no desire, no intention, to go spend an evening with people he went to school with. The ones he wanted to stay in touch with he still sees. As for the others, he’s been known to exit shops or change directions when he’s come across a former schoolmate. They always get this contrived look, like ‘oh, you’re a _dad_? I hadn’t heard’ when everyone knows they had, indeed, heard. There is no way, _nothing_ , that would make Louis spend an evening with these morons.

Out of spite, he checks to see who has already RSVP’d. Most of the names, he’s not surprised to see there. It fits with their personality from ten years ago. He keeps scrolling and rolling his eyes, until one name catches his eye.

_Harry Styles_.

Harry.

Fuck.

He hasn’t thought about Harry in years. Before he can stop it, Louis clicks through to his profile and opens his picture. He ignores the beating of his heart and how it gets louder when Harry’s picture loads. It’s a black and white shot of him leaning against a brick wall, his head turned to look at something outside of the frame. He’s wearing a long, dark coat, opened over a cable knit sweater, and his hair is artfully tousled. It looks like a professional picture and for a wild second, Louis wonders whether the boy has become a model in the last ten years. A quick investigation tells Louis that no, he’s actually a photographer, and it’s probably a shoot he agreed to pose in for a friend.

Before he has time to look up ‘harry styles photography’ on Google, Violet runs down the stairs, her school bag slung over her shoulder.

“Come on, Dad, we’ll be late!” she says, clicking her tongue and rolling her eyes before she heads for the entrance hall to put on her shoes.

Louis fills Clifford’s food and water bowl before joining her, too shaken by Harry’s return in his life to bother worrying that his nine years old daughter is beginning to show signs of tween angst.

-

**2008**

This was going to be Louis’ year. Final year of secondary school, freshly appointed captain of the football team, with a gorgeous bird on his arm: he was going to rule the school. It wasn’t something he really worked towards, it just kind of happened that he befriended most of his year over the years, and now he was going to reap the benefits of his natural charisma and magnetic personality.

Needless to say, despite it being the first day back to school, Louis felt like he was soaring. The summer had been long and tedious, endless hours working at Toys ‘R Us before spending his evenings loitering with his mates, getting drunk off cheap liquor and coughing through joints. Halfway through the summer, he’d gotten together with Eleanor after they’d hooked up at a party, the conclusion to a natural progression that had begun the year before when they’d both shown up at school in September blessed by puberty and had silently agreed that they belonged together. The long courtship was just for show, really, to fulfil the narrative that was expected of them. Louis wasn’t going to deprive the school of a good bit of theatre when it was handed to him on a silver platter.

Louis felt like a rock star when he walked into school, arm slung around Eleanor, his hand ever so slightly resting on her bum to show off. He grinned and winked whenever one of his mates gave him a knowing look. It felt like the opening of a classic teen movie and Louis adored the attention.

It was going to be a good year.

He settled on a couch in the form room and pulled Eleanor against him, kissing her when he saw a group of his mates joining them. He would never get tired of showing her off to his mates, his pride that he got the fittest girl of their year making him preen. He joined the chitchat, most of it inane; they’d hung out the day before so there was no catching up to be done. Louis kept an eye on the door, curious to see who was still there, who had dropped out, and whether they had any new students against whom he could measure his standing. New kids were a problem; they were fresh meat, interesting just by being new. Even if he loved it, Louis knew it was stupid to try so hard to stay on top, affecting a blasé indifference towards everything actually required a lot of work.

A boy walked in and Louis’ attention shifted to him alone. He had never seen him before, so he ought to be a new kid. He had a mop of brown curls on his head and walked with the tightness that’s characteristic of limbs grown too fast and the tough control that came with them. Louis shifted on the couch to get a better view of him, of his large eyes and plump lips, of the way in which every element of his face shouldn’t work on its own, but came together to form a harmonious ensemble.

He was, tragically, much fitter than Louis could ever hope to be. He could see almost everyone following the new kid with their gaze, the girls almost ravenous. There wasn’t a good offering of boys in their year – in their school, really – and the new kid was gorgeous in a way that hinted puberty hadn’t been tough for him.

His eyes were scanning the room nervously, as though looking for someone he knew, and he locked eyes with Louis for a second. Louis became hyper-aware of how he appeared, with his arm slung around Eleanor, his tie loose and askew, his shirt half untucked from his trousers, his hair straightened down his forehead. He ran a hand through his hair before he could stop it. The boy was frowning, the small move of muscles distorting his face, closing it off. He looked away quickly and kept walking, visibly relaxing when someone called “Harry!” and waved him over.

Harry, then. Louis craned his neck to see who he was sitting with and let out a small sigh when he saw him with the “ _underdogs”_. Louis had never managed to reach out to them, their lack of popularity making them hostile to contact from the outside of the tight group they formed. How Harry had already been accepted was a mystery, and it bothered Louis. He’d have welcomed him in his circle, given the chance. He’d have taken Harry under his wing and helped him fit in. It was Harry’s funeral if he chose to align himself with the losers—sorry, _underdogs_.

“The new guy’s fit,” Eleanor pointed out, pressing her hand against Louis’ chest to turn around and observe Harry over the back of the couch. “He’s Emma’s type, don’t you think? I should introduce her to him, they’d make such a cute couple.”

Louis hummed, Eleanor’s words sitting uncomfortably with him. “Give the bloke a break, he just got here.”

“Besides,” one of his mates butted in, “he might be, you know…” he held out his hand, letting it hang limply from his wrist.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Just ‘cause your dad’s a bender doesn’t mean everyone is, eh,” he snapped, smirking when laughter erupted around their circle. Eleanor slapped his chest with a click of her tongue, the scripted reaction she was expected to have.

Louis turned around to look at Harry just in time to see him burst out laughing, eyes crinkled, head thrown back, at something one of his new friends had said. Louis noticed several other people – girls – looking at him, too. Harry said something in reply that Louis couldn’t hear and it was his group’s turn to laugh, an understanding visibly passing between them. The bond had been made. Harry belonged with them. He was out of reach for Louis. He turned back in his seat to try and slip into the conversation his mates were having.

-

**2019**

Louis has a throbbing headache by the time he gets to his car after a particularly bad day at work. He takes a few seconds to rest his forehead against the steering wheel, closing his eyes and enjoying the blissful silence of his darkened car, hoping it might ease the pain. Blindly, he reaches for the glove box and pulls it open, fumbling through the mess inside of it until he closes his fist around a bottle of paracetamol. He pops two in his mouth and washes them down with the last dregs of a bottle of water he finds on the backseat.

Becoming a Toys ‘R Us manager wasn’t exactly what he’d planned for his future, but, then again, not a single part of his current life was. It was just a natural progression when Violet was born, to stay at the job, and the promotions came gradually until he was in charge of the whole store. The pay’s alright and the conditions are decent, and, really, it’s such a mindless job that he can’t find the energy to mind it. Besides, after ten years there, he wouldn’t even know what else to do. Most days are fine, but then days like today happen when he needs to supervise the inventory check and he has three employees who call in sick and he ends up working the till until closing because no one else could step in, and he thinks about quitting twenty-seven times in one day.

Louis takes another minute before he turns the engine on and grabs his phone to call Eleanor.

“ _Yes?_ ” she answers when she picks up.

“Did you get my message about working until closing?”

“ _I did, yes. Don’t worry, I found a ride home_.”

Louis wasn’t worried about that part. He knows very well that she rarely has trouble finding rides home. He lets out a quick sigh.

“Did you pick up V from my mum’s?”

There’s a pause and Louis hears her sigh, too. “ _No. You said you would after work._ ”

Louis tightens his hand around the wheel and he bites his lip to stop his mouth from running off without his consent. He takes a deep breath before he continues. “It was the plan _before_ I had to close the shop. I thought you would—forget it. I’ll go, we’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

“ _Yeah, alright. We’re out of milk_.”

She hangs up before Louis can reply and he throws his phone on the passenger seat, out of frustration. Louis rolls down his window and welcomes the gust of cool air with a sigh, his headache receding a little. Ten minutes later, he’s parking in front of his mother’s house and stepping out of the car, using the short walk to the front door to try and school his face into neutrality.

He knocks and then walks in. “Hey, it’s me,” he calls, keeping his voice low in case the youngest twins are already in bed.

“Kitchen,” he hears his mother reply and he crosses the house to join her. “Hey, love,” she says when he walks in, looking up from the bills scattered in front of her. “Tea?”

With a groan, Louis sinks into a chair and nods. “I need it.”

Johannah gets up and puts the kettle on the stove. “The water’s still warm, it won’t be too long. Violet’s upstairs with the girls, she’s helping to get Doris and Ernest to bed.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he breathes out, rubbing his forehead a few times. “I thought El would come pick her up, but…”

Johannah clicks her tongue. “I’d have been surprised. You know what I think about this.”

Louis hums and pulls the cat-shaped biscuit jar Charlotte gave their mother years ago closer to him, peering inside and taking a handful of ginger snaps from it. _This_ , here, means his marriage. They’ve had this conversation a million times in the past ten years. “I know,” he says, nibbling on a biscuit. “I did what I had to.”

“I know,” she replies, her tone short. “I know.”

“It’s over, though, Mum. I…” he sighs, shakes his head. He hates opening that door, entertaining those thoughts. “She stopped trying.” The kettle whistles and gives Louis a welcomed pause. He waits until his mother has joined him at the table with his cup before he speaks again. “Where’s Dan?”

“With Fizzy for a dentist appointment. You were saying?” She puts her hand on Louis’ arm, squeezing it briefly.

“Nothing new, really, just that my marriage is bloody over.”

“It’s been over for years,” Johannah replies and Louis doesn’t have the energy to pretend to be offended by the bluntness of her statement. He knows she’s right.

“Well, yeah, but we could pretend that things were alright. She doesn’t talk to me, Mum. She can’t even bother talking to me. V’s going to notice, soon, and I don’t know what I’ll do when she does. I’ve always tried to keep her out of this—this fucking mess, but she’ll see that her mum and dad hate each other.”

“Hate? Really?”

“There’s no love lost between us, no.” Louis sighs again and eats a biscuit to clear his head before he speaks again. “She’s cheating on me. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but, like… eighty percent.”

A heavy silence falls over the kitchen, broken only by the ticking of Dan’s gaudy rooster clock and by the peels of giggles drifting from upstairs. As hard as he tries, Louis cannot feel entirely soothed by his mother’s house; it might smell like her and transpire with her personality, it’s not the house he grew up in and he had already moved out when she bought it with Dan. It’ll always feel like a stranger’s house, inhabited by his family, but not quite the right shape and size.

Louis takes a sip of tea and winces when he burns his tongue.

“How do you know?” his mother finally asks.

“She’s not subtle about it. All those nights she had to work late and got a ride home by the same man, every time, and his smell was all over her. I mean, I found condoms in her purse—I wasn’t snooping, she’d asked me to get her wallet from it and I saw them. We haven’t—not in _years_. They’re not mine.”

Johannah raises her eyebrows. “Not in years? And you’re wondering why your marriage is falling apart?”

“Well, I’m not—” Louis stops talking and lowers his eyes.

He wouldn’t know how to end that sentence. What did he think he was he going to say? _I’m not attracted to her?_ _I don’t enjoy sex with her?_ _I don’t think I’m stra—_

He can’t finish that thought. He’s never been able to and today, of all days, is not one for those questions. Not when Harry has popped back into his life.

“I know,” his mother says and strokes his arm.

Louis wonders what she thinks she knows, but he’s too scared to ask.

“Anyway, we’ve got to stay together for Violet. At least until she’s eighteen and off to uni.”

“You’ll take another nine years of this?” Johannah sounds dubious.

“I have to. There’s no alternative, Mum. Besides, what am I going to do? Divorce Eleanor? Become a twenty-nine-fucking-year old divorced dad? She’ll fight me for custody and I’ll end up seeing my kid twice a month. That’s not happening. I won’t let it.”

Louis is unsure of a lot of things in his life, but he is sure of that part. He will not put his kid through a divorce. He remembers all too well how it feels.

“Sometimes it’s the thing to do, though. I didn’t want to divorce Mark, but… sometimes, no matter how much you love your children, you’ve got to do things for yourself. You’ve got to ask yourself if you’re going to sacrifice your happiness to keep together the charade of a marriage.”

Louis shakes his head and takes a long sip of tea. “The status quo is liveable, right now. I’ll stick to it.” He takes another sip. “I got invited to a school reunion today,” he says, changing the topic. “Ten years, made me feel ancient.”

“Already ten years? Will you go?”

“Don’t think so,” he says, grimacing. “I don’t need to see people I went to school with, you know? And there’s, like, only one interesting person who RSVP’d. Do you remember Harry Styles?”

“Hm… wasn’t he the boy you had a crush on?” she asks, her tone light, her eyes teasing.

Louis nearly spits out his sip of tea. “I didn’t have a crush on him!” he snaps. “We were friends!”

He never told anyone the full story and he never will, which is why he’s in shock that his mother hit the nail on the head as soon as she heard his name.

“Are you sure?” she asks and Louis feels like getting up and running out of the house. She looks so satisfied by his reaction. It’s not fair.

“Sure. I was already with Eleanor at that time, nothing could have happened.” He shoves a biscuit in his mouth to stop words from spilling out before he has thought them through. “I was only asking to know if you knew whether he’s still in Donny?”

“His mum is, I see her from time to time. A truly lovely woman. He’s not, though. He’s in Manchester. Her daughter, too, she says she’s thinking about moving back to be with them. Her daughter’s expecting, I hear.”

Trust his mother to call ‘from time to time’ an in-depth relationship where information about their adult children is exchanged.

“You’re so weird. I was never even that close to Harry, it’s just weird that you’re friends with his mum.” Lies, these are giant lies.

Johannah laughs. “I’m not allowed to have friends?”

“Not when they’re tied to my past.” He drains his cup of tea, ignoring the third degree burns he’s causing to his oesophagus, and gets up. “I should go, it’s almost Violet’s bedtime.” Bending down to kiss his mother’s forehead, he takes a second to breath in her familiar, soothing scent. “Thanks again for tonight.”

“Don’t thank me. She’s invaluable help with the twins.”

“Still, thanks,” Louis says before heading upstairs.

He finds Violet in Daisy and Phoebe’s room, the three of them whispering conspiratorially, their words interspaced with giggles. He knocks on the open door to get their attention.

“Violet, it’s time to go home, now.”

“Five more minutes, Daddy!” she pleads, putting on her best manipulative pout.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s already late and you need to shower before bed. Come on.”

She sighs, but gets up, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Bye Daisy, bye Phoebe!” she says, hugging her aunts before following Louis out of the room. “I could have slept here.”

“Your Nan doesn’t need one more child to wrangle on a school morning, V.” Louis smiles at his mother when he finds her waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. “What do we say?”

Obediently, Violet hugs Johannah. “Thanks for having me, Nan. Dinner was really good!”

“Anytime, darling.”

Louis hugs his mother goodbye and then herds his daughter to his car, making sure she buckles her seatbelt before driving to their house, stopping on the way to buy milk. Violet runs up to her mother as soon as they’re home and Louis heads to the living room after bringing the milk to the kitchen. Evenings are Eleanor’s responsibility, she’s in charge of making her shower and putting her to bed.

He sinks into the couch with a groan, grateful to finally be home. Clifford joins him, climbing on the couch to lay his head on Louis’ lap. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Louis pets him mindlessly as he scrolls through Facebook for a few minutes before he remembers what he wanted to look up in the morning.

Switching apps, he types ‘harry styles photography’ and clicks through on the first website. It loads as a minimalist portfolio and Louis bites his lip as he moves through the pictures. They match the early days of Harry’s photographic aesthetic, the clumsy shots he’d nervously show Louis, worried about his opinion. His eye has gotten sharper, his style transpiring through every frame. He’d always had a talent for making people open up and it shows in the raw emotions he sees in the portraits he’s done. A section is called ‘ _the lovers_ ’ and Louis clicks on it.

_Come back later…_ the page says and Louis sighs, instead clicking through to the ‘ _about Harry_ ’ page. He reads through his biography, a heavy weight settling in his stomach when he reads that Harry studied and then lived for three years in New York. Louis cannot even begin to imagine how it must have felt to live abroad. He’s never even moved out of his childhood neighbourhood, for fuck’s sake. His world is reduced to five square kilometres. He’s never even left the country on holiday, the furthest he’s ever gone being Brighton for one miserable, rainy week when Violet was five.

At the bottom of the page, Louis spots social media links and he begins with the Facebook page. It’s not the one Harry used to RSVP to the event, but a professional one, and Louis spends a long time looking through it. His thumb hovers over the ‘Like this page’ button for a long time before he switches out of the app to check the other links.

There’s an Instagram link and he opens it, expecting another professional page. It surprises him to see it’s not, and a thrill goes through him, making him sit up straighter. Clifford sighs in protest.

Louis scrolls through the pictures, feeling like he’s finally seeing the real Harry. He recognises his mother in a few of the pictures and he assumes the other woman is his sister, and they’re obviously his favoured models. Louis’ heart swells to see that he is still as close to his family as he used to be. He keeps going, getting deeper and deeper into the timeline, and his breath itches when he finds a selfie with his sister.

It’s the first time he sees Harry’s face in ten years and he wasn’t prepared for it. In the picture, he’s wearing a pair of big, white rimmed sunglasses that make him look like a bug, and he’s grinning, showcasing his slightly crooked teeth. The teenager Louis knew is only barely discernible in the adult man he’s grown into; his jaw wider and sharp, his nose bigger. Louis aches to see his eyes and he begins scrolling faster, hoping to find another picture of him, but there isn’t a single one in sight and the further Louis scrolls, the more scared he gets that he’ll accidentally like a picture.

Louis locks his phone when Eleanor enters the room and sit in an armchair, at the other end of the living room. She reaches for the remote and turns on the television.

“She’s in bed?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” she replies without looking away from the television.

“Did you get the invitation on Facebook this morning?”

“Hm?” she asks, distractedly. “Oh, the reunion? Yeah. Stupid, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Louis mutters under his breath. He rubs at his eyes. “We could go. See where everyone is now.”

“I don’t care? And I know you don’t, either. You’re saying that to contradict me.”

Louis bites his lip to control what comes out of his mouth. “I’m not. I think it could be interesting, that’s all.”

“When is it?”

Louis tells her the date, two weeks from now.

“Hm, I can’t. I have to go to London for work.”

Louis sighs, now properly annoyed. “Couldn’t you tell me that earlier? It’s in two weeks, for fuck’s sake.”

“I only found out today, calm down, fuck,” Eleanor snaps in return. “Always so keen on portraying me as the villain, eh? It’s easier if I’m a bitch, isn’t it? Then you get to be the victim, that’s your favourite role after all.”

It takes all of Louis’ self-control to bite his tongue and swallow his anger. “I’ll go alone, then. Whatever. V’ll spend the night at my mum’s, she’s been begging me to do it forever.”

Eleanor sniffs. “She could go to my mum’s, for once.”

“Well, I mean, we can give her the choice, but she’ll pick my sisters over your parents.”

She doesn’t say anything in reply; Louis has tapped into one of their many layers of fights, the one where Violet is aloof with Eleanor’s parents, but treats Louis’ mother like her own.

Out of spite, Louis decides to add another layer to the animosity brewing between them. “Harry’s going to be there. Harry Styles. Remember him?”

He sees Eleanor’s entire body tense at the name. “I do, yes,” she replies, eyes glued on the television.

When she doesn’t elaborate, Louis gets up to go to bed. He’s almost out of the room when she speaks up again.

“He almost turned you, didn’t he?” she lets out, her casual tone laced with a pleasure she can barely disguise. She’s relishing the moment.

“People don’t _turn_ gay, Eleanor,” he replies, fighting to keep his voice level. “That’s a very ignorant thing to say for someone with a uni degree. Do you feel threatened?”

She huffs. “You wish. Now shut up, I’m trying to watch this show.”

Louis heads upstairs in silence, RSVP’ing to the event as he does so.

-

**2008**

Louis took a second to look up at the fiery colours of the leaves, stark against the grey, overcast sky, before he entered the school. He made a beeline for his locker and found Eleanor waiting for him there.

“Hey, babe,” she said, leaning in to kiss him, her hand caressing the nape of his neck.

Louis returned the kiss and swallowed back his protest at the nickname; he hated ‘babe’, but no matter how many times he told her, it never stuck. Moving back, he smiled at her and opened his locker to hang his coat and grab his notebook for his first class. His mind was elsewhere, already in class, really, and a year ago, he’d have made fun of himself for being eager to go to _class_ , but.

But, he had Chemistry first thing in the morning, and he had Chemistry with _Harry_. He wasn’t, like, _gay_ for Harry, but they were becoming friends and the bloke was cool, cooler than the people he chose to hang out with predicted. The alphabetical order put them at the same table and ever since, the kid had grown on Louis.

“You have Chemistry, yeah?” Eleanor asked, glancing at the timetable taped to the inside of the locker door. “I’ll walk you there.”

“Don’t you have English on the other side of the school?” Louis asked, closing his locker and linking his arm with Eleanor. “You don’t have to walk me. I know the way,” he said with a laugh.

“I just want to spend time with my boyfriend, aren’t I allowed?” she snapped.

Louis rolled his eyes fondly and nodded. Her temper was half of her charm, really. “Of course, love.”

Eleanor monopolised the conversation as they walked, sharing with Louis the latest gossip she’d heard. Louis’ mind was drifting away, but she grabbed his attention when she said Harry’s name.

“What about Harry?” he asked, interrupting her.

She clicked her tongue and sighed like Louis was her life’s biggest burden. “I was getting to it. So, Mary told Emma—”

“Mary? Mary P.?”

“No, Mary T., stop interrupting me,” she snapped. “It doesn’t matter which Mary, _seriously_. “So, anyway, Mary told Emma, who told Laura that she’s heard that Harry might be _gay_.” She whispered the last word like it was a curse, her eyes going wide.

Something fluttered inside of Louis, like opening a window on a windy day and watching the curtains blowing up. He gulped.

“So, what if he is? It’s 2008, El, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not, but it’s weird, you’ve got to admit. He’s the first, isn’t he? That we have?”

Louis hated the way she was relishing the news. “He’s not out, so we don’t know for sure. And there might be others, too, they’re just not saying because everyone around here’s a fucking bigot.”

Eleanor huffed. “You’re the first to make jokes about it, babe.”

Louis faltered and frowned. “Yeah, but I don’t mean them.”

“If you say so.” By then, they had reached Louis’ classroom. “Just be careful around him, yeah? You wouldn’t want to lead him on.”

“I’m the same way with him than I am with Stan and the others, and you don’t see them falling in love with me, yeah? Don’t worry, love, no one’s stealing me from you,” Louis replied, stroking her cheek before kissing her. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

He watched her leave and then walked into the room, nodding at Harry when he saw him already at their table.

“Styles,” he said in lieu of greeting as he sat down.

“Tomlinson,” Harry replied. “Ready for an hour of riveting Chemistry? Although you’ve got a head start, there was plenty of chemistry in the doorway, hm?” Harry made kissy noises until Louis smacked his arm with his notebook.

“Shut up, you shit,” he said with a laugh. “You’re just jealous.”

Harry’s eyes widened for a second before he frowned. “I’m not into Eleanor, no, don’t worry.”

_But maybe you’re into me_ , a voice inside of Louis’ head unhelpfully offered.

“You’ve got a girlfriend, then, back in Manchester?” Louis asked, mocking Harry’s accent when he pronounced ‘Manchester’.

“For the millionth time, I’m not from Manchester, do you even listen when I talk?” Harry laughed. “And no, no girlfriend.”

“Surprising, with that face and that voice,” Louis said, trying to be encouraging. “I’d assume knickers drop wherever you go.” He patted Harry’s cheek.

Harry moved out of his reach and shook his head, looking away. “Knickers stay in place, it’s not… no.”

Tension settled between them and Louis felt like it was his fault, although he wasn’t sure why.

“Hey,” he said. “I hope I didn’t insult you, I didn’t mean to.”

Harry gave him a smile. “Don’t worry, you didn’t. I’m not easily insulted.”

Louis nodded. “I like that about you, yeah. You don’t take my stupid jokes personally.”

Harry was silent for a moment. “Hey, would you want—”

Before he could finish, the teacher walked in and he stopped talking.

“Tell me later,” Louis whispered, but when the class ended, Harry ran out without finishing the question he’d started.

Louis was about to set off after him, but he spotted Eleanor coming his way and he changed directions to meet up with her.

-

**2019**

The weeks leading to the school reunion are taxing. The closer he gets to the event, the more Louis begins doubting whether he should go or just forget about the whole thing. Harry’s presence is the issue, that’s for certain. Louis wouldn’t have thought twice about it had Harry not said he was going; he wouldn’t have gone because, at its heart, the event is going to be a stupid reunion with people he worked hard to forget over the past ten years.

But Harry had to say he’d be there.

Louis doesn’t want to give him too much importance in his life. He’s already got enough on his mind without letting a crush from a literal decade ago come and poison his life. His thoughts run in a circle, though, a constant loop from which he’s unable to extricate himself. It begins with a shiver of dread and grows until he dares to think the word _crush_ , which transforms the dread into sheer panic and forces him to do something, _anything_ to stop the loop for a while. He’d never seen it as a crush, as it was happening. It wasn’t a crush, it couldn’t be a crush, he was _straight_.

He’s been jogging more, now going for a run at night as well as in the morning; the pain it puts him through is the only healthy way he’s found to put a lid on his thoughts for a brief moment. The alternative, he fears, would be to go to the pub to get smashed and finish becoming a bloody stereotype.

A tiny part of him, too, wishes to melt away the extra pounds before he sees Harry. And here goes the loop again, spinning in his head, louder than the pain in his legs as he pushes himself to go faster, to shave seconds off his best time yet.

He gets home out of breath to the point of being nauseous and he sits down heavily on the stoop, holding his left side to try and get rid of a stitch. Through the open windows, he can hear Violet laughing at something she’s watching on television and a smile blooms on his face, his worries eased for a second. The setting sun is painting the neighbouring houses in shades of orange and pink and there isn’t a cloud in the sky; it has to be the first proper summer evening they’ve had this year.

Louis doesn’t want to get inside. He knows that when he does, he’ll jump right back into the row with Eleanor that sent him out on a jog. A money related row, their most vicious, and for once Louis is right, which makes it worse. Her trip to London, her fifth that year, is going to cost more than they can afford, and Louis pulled out of her that it’s not even mandatory that she tags along, and considering that they’re still paying back the loans she took to go to university when Violet was 4 and that she’s still basically an unpaid intern with only a symbolic pay, Louis is the one having to work 60-hour weeks to make ends meet.

He waits until the cotton candy colours of the sky have darkened and the moon has risen before he gets inside. He glances into the living room and finds Violet and Eleanor cuddling on the couch, which sends him upstairs to shower and change into his pyjamas. He’d rather not see Eleanor, even if it means staying away from his daughter.

He collapses on his bed and, out of reflex, grabs his phone and opens Harry’s Instagram profile. He’s been posting pictures from Doncaster for almost a week, now, and Louis has been praying every day that he would bump into him in a shop so their reunion doesn’t have to take place in front of people from his past that he hates. He hasn’t liked a single picture, yet, he hasn’t dared. He’d rather not let Harry know that he’s been stalking him before they’ve reconnected.

He’s a month into Harry’s feed, looking again at pictures he’s seen a thousand times before, when Eleanor enters their bedroom after putting their daughter to bed. Out of the corner of his eyes, Louis sees her packing.

“So you’re going,” he lets out.

“I have to, for my career.”

Louis rolls his eyes without looking up from his phone. “Do you think you could ask to be paid, this time?”

She sighs like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Do you think you could refrain from being an arse for a single day? Just one day.”

“I’m just saying, we’re about to have to choose between food and electricity.” He glances up from his phone to her and sees that she’s shaking her head in anger.

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to go to London so often if we moved there. I’d get paid more, too.”

Louis bursts out laughing, derisive and too loud. “Hilarious. Moving to London, that’s a funny one,” he snaps, shaking his head. “We can’t even afford a studio flat there, be fucking realistic for a second.”

“We could if you got a better job,” she retorts, shoving clothes in her suitcase.

“Yeah, okay, let me just become a doctor with nothing but my shit A-levels,” he spits back. “Why are you even saying that shit?! You know I can’t get a job better than manager of a toy store. It _is_ a good job.”

She shuts her suitcase with a groan of anger. “Whatever. I’m going. You’ll have the entire house for yourself to let Harry Styles shag you, you should be happy,” she says as she walks out, throwing a glare at Louis on the way.

“Yeah, maybe I will, and I won’t change the sheets!” he shouts back, realising a second too late what he just said.

_Shit_.

He doesn’t—he wouldn’t want to—he’s not— _shit_. He’s reeling, eyes wide and heartbeat wild; that’s one door he definitely refused to open and now Eleanor has kicked it in, letting Louis know that yes, _yes_ , he would. He would, he would, he would.

-

Louis barely manages to sleep the night before the reunion. He tosses and turns, wide awake and thanking every deity he knows of that Eleanor is already gone to London. She’d throw a fit if she had to share the bed with Louis in that state. He’d be sent to sleep on the couch and that would definitely keep him awake until sunrise.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was as nervous as he is now. Perhaps on his wedding day, or when Violet was born. The two events happened so close to one another that he can’t really differentiate them anymore, they’re just one big chunk of stress in his past.

It’s a different kind of nerves, though, this time. He wouldn’t call it dread—it’d be wrong to call it dread. He _wants_ to see Harry again. He has a lot of hope about their meeting actually. That might be it: he has expectations, very high ones, and he’s worried they won’t be fulfilled. He’s worried Harry’s personality will have changed, that he’ll have turned into a conceited bastard and that he won’t even remember Louis. Louis might have only been a momentary blip in his life, a footnote to his time in Doncaster. Perhaps he didn’t have the same effect on Harry that Harry had on him.

And that thought is Louis’ waking nightmare.

He gives up on sleep when he hears Violet getting up and going downstairs. He joins her, pouring them bowls of cereals and turning on the coffee maker so he can hope to survive the day.

“When do you want to go to your Nan’s?” he asks as he sits next to her on the couch, where she’s watching telly. She takes the bowl of cereal he offers her.

“After lunch? When is your thing?”

“My thing is in the evening, but I can drive you there after lunch if you’ve got no homework to do, yeah.”

Violet shakes her head. “I finished it all yesterday.”

Louis leans over and presses a kiss to her temple. “Good girl. We’ll do that, then.”

She thanks him with a bright smile and turns her attention to the television. Louis grabs his phone and opens Instagram to see if Harry posted anything. It’s a reflex, now. He hates himself for it.

There are no new pictures so Louis switches over to Facebook, scrolling mindlessly through his feed, barely reading anything. His mind is elsewhere, anxiously trying to predict what might happen that night.

“You didn’t run this morning?” Violet asks, breaking Louis’ mental loop of stress.

“I had a rough night, I didn’t have it in me. I’ll try a nap when you’re gone.”

“Can I go walk Clifford, then? Because you didn’t run with him today.”

Louis presses his lips together, assessing his daughter. Is nine old enough to go walk around the neighbourhood alone? Did his mother let him out of her sight when he was nine? He can’t remember. He eyes Clifford, lying at their feet, trying to decide if the dog is big enough to protect his daughter if something were to happen.

“Hm. I suppose you could… but you don’t go too far. No further than the park and then back here. Understood?”

Violet smiles, wide and beaming. “Really? I can go? Alone?”

“Yes…” Louis replies, cautious. “We can try it. To the park and back. That’s a ten minutes walk, both ways. If you’re not back in 20 minutes, it won’t ever happen again.”

Violet nods her head vehemently, her eyes wide. “I promise, Daddy!”

“Go, then. You know where his leash is, yeah?”

“Yes! I know!”

She’s barely put her empty bowl on the coffee table before she runs upstairs to get dressed, coming back a few minutes later and calling Clifford to the hall. Louis gets up to watch her get ready and he stands in the doorway as she walks away, Clifford obediently accompanying her.

Louis lingers in the doorway for a moment, a twinge in his heart to be reminded that his little girl is growing up. With a sigh, he closes the front door and goes back to the living room, not daring to do anything while she’s out, just in case she calls and he misses it.

Without even thinking about it, he ends up browsing Harry’s social media profiles once more, as though something new might have appeared in the past few minutes. He’s rewarded by Instagram, where a picture from Harry appears as he refreshes his feed. It’s a breakfast plate, the kind of picture that never fails to fill his feed on weekend days, but the lighting and composition of this one makes it obvious that Harry put some thoughts into it rather than just aiming his camera and making sure his finger wasn’t in the way. The caption says ‘ _mum’s breakfast. oil(y food) on ceramic. 2019_ ’ and Louis snorts, rolling his eyes fondly. Before he can stop it, he double taps the picture to like it.

His heart drops. He hasn’t liked a single picture since he discovered the profile, that was a line he never wanted to cross. He just did, though, through a moment of temporary insanity, and the picture had only been there for a few seconds so it’s likely that Harry still has his phone in his hands, which means he’ll see the notification, and _fuck_ , Louis’ username will give him away.

Louis stares at his phone in horror, sure that he’s never felt worse in his life.

A notification flashes up on the screen, saying that _harrystyles_ has sent him a direct message.

Louis drops his phone in his lap with a gasp and he covers his mouth with his hands, shaking his head. He gives himself a few seconds to compose himself before he picks up the phone and swipes right on the notification to open the conversation.

**_harrystyles_ **

_Tomlinson? Louis Tomlinson?_

Louis’ heart is thumping in his chest and he’s shaking as he types a reply.

**_louist91_ **

_Yes?_

**_harrystyles_ **

_We went to school together, yeah?_

Oh, fuck, Harry has completely forgotten about Louis, it’s obvious now that he was entirely forgettable and that Harry couldn’t give a shit about Louis.

**_louist91_ **

_Yes, I found you through the FB event for tonight’s reunion. We had chemistry together?_

**_harrystyles_ **

_I remember you :) I also remember we had chemistry together_

**_harrystyles_ **

_You mean the school subject, yes?_

Louis can’t believe what he’s reading. He blinks and reads it again, trying to figure out if he’s hallucinating or not. Before he can even try to calm down enough to come up with a reply, Harry writes again.

**_harrystyles_ **

_Looking forward to tonight._

**_louist91_ **

_Me too. Hopefully our paths will cross._

**_harrystyles_ **

_I hope so_.

Out of sheer panic, Louis only replies with a thumb up emoji before locking his phone and throwing it away from him on the couch. He lets out a groan and buries his face against the seat of the couch, mortified by what just happened.

It’s probably worse that Harry remembers him, after all. At least, if he’d been forgotten, Louis could have started with a clean slate, with all the ugly things that happened between them wiped away and locked in the past.

Louis closes his eyes against the memories, willing them to return back to the dark corners of his mind, where he locked them away. He doesn’t want to remember the chain of events he accidentally put in motions. He doesn’t want to be reminded that he fucked up.

He jumps, startled, when Violet opens the front door and starts telling Louis about her adventure, loud and ecstatic. Louis straightens up on the couch and smiles at her, pushing his worries to the back of his mind so he can be present for his daughter.

He can unravel when she’s gone.

-

**2009**

“Harry!” Louis shouted, too loud for the size of the room, when he saw the boy walk in. “Styles! You came!”

Louis weaved his way through the crowd to fling an arm around Harry’s shoulders, grinning at him.

“Yeah, well, I was invited, wasn’t I?” Harry replied, shrugging.

“I know, but I’ve never seen you at a party before!” Louis took a sip from his drink, relishing its distinct _red_ flavour.

“First time I’m invited to one, so…” Harry trailed off. “You’ve been here long?”

“Oh, yeah, I helped get everything ready, I’ve been here for _hours_.”

“I could tell,” Harry replied, nodding at the cup Louis was holding. “Where can I get one of those?”

Louis grinned at him. “Follow me, sir,” he said, pompous, bowing, unsteady on his feet, before leading Harry to the kitchen. “I’m glad you came! We rarely hang out outside of school or the play!”

At the beginning of January, Louis had been cast in the annual school play, which was unsurprising, really, and so had Harry—very good news, in Louis’ humble opinion. It had pushed their relationship from class acquaintances to something almost like friendship, which delighted him. Harry was such a great lad, Louis could never get enough of him. Seeing him at a party, where he might finally let loose a little, was just the cherry on top. Louis had high hopes that by the end of the night, they would officially be friends.

“I don’t think we ever have, actually,” Harry replied, following Louis closely.

Louis shut the kitchen door behind them, turning the loud sounds of the party into muffled background noise. “Is it your first party?”

Harry leaned against the counter and watched as Louis poured him a drink. It was weird seeing Harry out of his uniform. Louis could count on one hand the number of times he had. Without even thinking about it, he reached out and touched Harry’s jumper.

“Nice jumper, mate. Bit of an odd choice for a party, though.”

Harry moved out of Louis’ reach and shrugged again, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not, don’t say that.”

Sensing that he had made a mistake, Louis went back to his previous task. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.” He handed Harry his drink. “I’m glad you came.”

“It’s not my first party,” Harry finally replied. “It’s my first in Donny, but you keep forgetting I had friends before I moved here.”

“But you’re so mysterious!” Louis drawled, waving his eyebrows. “That’s what everyone says.”

“Maybe I’m just not interested in telling my entire life story to everyone. Especially since I’ll be out of here at the end of the school year.”

Louis put down his glass and hopped on the counter, giving Harry a dramatic pout. “How come?”

“I’ll go live with my sister in Manchester for the summer before I move into my uni dorm.”

“You already know that you got in?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m only applying there. If I don’t get in, I’ll just get a job and reapply the next year.”

It was the first time Harry was opening up about his life to Louis and he could feel that he was treading on thin ice; he had to be careful not to seem too eager and cause Harry to shut off once more. The ocean of punch in his stomach was making it a tough balancing act.

“Why are you so set on Manchester? Have you got _someone_ there?” Louis asked, keeping his tone light so he didn’t betray his eagerness to know more.

“No,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “But it’s where all my friends will go. I want to be reunited with them.”

“Moving here really ruined your life, eh?”

Harry let out a chuckle and took a long sip of his drink. “Yeah, it did.”

“Maybe it would make you less miserable if you had friends?”

With a frown, Harry cocked his head to the side. “I have friends.”

“Do you? It’s hard to say, you’re so cold with me.” Louis hadn’t meant for the words to sound bitter, but his feelings bubbled to the surface beyond his control. “I’ve been trying to be your friend since September.”

“Well,” Harry said, swallowing from his glass. “You’re not... it’s... complicated.” He sighed.

“Try to explain? I want to understand what I do wrong.”

“Your girlfriend hates me, for one. She won’t let me near you, or, well... she won’t let you near me.”

“She can be jealous and possessive, yes. But you’re distant even in class or during rehearsals. It’s like you hate me,” Louis muttered, shrugging dejectedly. “And I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“I don’t hate you,” Harry replied, his voice softer. “But you... you surround yourself with people who are, hm, not safe for me.”

Louis’ heart sped up at Harry’s words. He held his breath, not daring to make a single noise that might break the moment and push away the revelation that he felt might change his life.

“What do you mean?” Louis asked in a breath, aware that he looked too keen to know, but unable to disguise it.

With a sigh that seemed to come from deep inside of him, Harry closed his eyes. “You can’t tell anyone. You have to promise.” He opened his eyes and locked them on Louis’. “I mean it. You have to promise me.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me.”

Without realising, Louis leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement and anticipation.

“I... I’m gay,” Harry let out. His gaze darted around, checking to see that they were still alone. “And your friends are massive homophobes.”

This was testing Louis’ loyalty. His instinct was to defend his friends, but in this situation, he knew it would be the worst thing to do; it would permanently alienate Harry from him. Instead, Louis swallowed back whatever reply he had been about to spew out and he nodded, pressing his lips together.

“I don’t think any of them are... like, _proper_ homophobes. It’s just jokes. Bad jokes, but not... they wouldn’t jump you or anything. You’re not in danger.”

“Words hurt, too. The rumours are bad enough to deal with, it’s like I’m living my GCSE all over again.”

“You don’t want people here to know?”

“My friends know, but I don’t want to broadcast it to the entire school. It’s not worth the bother.”

A smile appeared on Louis’ face. “So, I _am_ your friend?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Harry downed his drink. “Get me another and let’s get out of here before they think we’re snogging.”

The only thing that Louis managed as a reply was to let out an embarrassing giggle. He wasn’t proud.

-

A part of Louis wondered, even weeks later, if Harry had known what was coming when he made his throwaway comment about them snogging. The coincidence was uncanny, even if, rationally, Louis knew it was one.

He spent most of the party close to Harry, eager to show him that he was not bothered by his confession and very serious about his plea to become his friend. He hoped, too, that his presence might make it a bit easier for Harry to connect with others, that he might break the ice and help him have a better time at the party. They danced together, too, at some point, although it was goofier than anything else, and a part of Louis knew he was doing it as a way to prove to himself that it didn’t bother him to dance with a gay bloke. Or with a bloke, period, because that, too, could make people talk.

It was lucky, then, that they were with their theatre friends instead of his regular ones. They were miles ahead in terms of open-mindedness and, from watching everyone, Louis had a hunch that they knew about Harry. He might actually be the last person at the party to find out, which stung more than he’d like to admit. Perhaps Harry had only told him because he was worried someone might mention it to Louis, assuming that he knew. Louis didn’t like to be out of the loop. Not one bit.

He also didn’t like to be thought of as mingling with bigots, so when someone called for a game of spin the bottle, instead of scoffing like he normally would have, Louis joined the circle willingly. If he had to kiss a bloke, he bloody would and he’d show Harry that he was not like his friends and that he couldn’t be judged in the same way.

Louis wasn’t entirely calm during the game. He wanted to prove that he was not bothered, sure, but that didn’t mean he was mentally ready to kiss a boy. He was, but only in theory, which meant that every time a boy spun the bottle, Louis held his breath and braced for the worst. This state of mind kept him on edge, and when the bottle landed on Harry and he ended up kissing another boy, wide hand resting on the boy’s jaw and body language screaming that he loved it, Louis let out a shrill laugh that drew everyone’s attention to him.

“Sorry about that,” Louis muttered and took a long sip of his drink. “Come on, Harry, spin it, it’s your turn,” he added.

Harry did, giving the bottle a sharp spin, its momentum keeping it in movement for almost a minute before it stopped to point at Louis.

His heart lurched and his stomach dropped. For fuck’s sake, he was willing to kiss a boy, but it didn’t have to be _Harry_.

“It’s a good thing Eleanor isn’t there or else she’d rip Harry’s throat,” a girl commented and it made everyone laugh.

Louis didn’t. He finished his drink and then put it down with a shrug.

“It’s just a kiss, eh,” Louis said, getting up on his knees to crawl to the centre of the circle and meet up with Harry.

Harry didn’t look much more confident and it reassured Louis. It was weird for him, too, then. That was good. Louis gave him an encouraging smile.

“I won’t bite,” Louis said, laughing. His heart was in his throat.

He had never noticed before how truly lovely Harry’s lips were, plump and reddened by the punch, and slightly parted in anticipation of the kiss. Louis swallowed thickly and locked eyes with him, waiting to see who would do the first move.

Harry did, placing his hand on Louis’ jaw and leaning in to press their lips together, chaste and barely there. Time stood still, the length of a breath, and then Louis caught up with what was happening and he kissed back, putting a hand on Harry’s hip for leverage as he moved closer to Harry, deepening the kiss with a soft sigh.

Louis was building up the courage to open his lips, to push his luck and see how far he could go, when Harry moved back. By instinct, to his dismay, Louis tried to follow Harry’s lips.

For a second, Louis hoped Harry didn’t notice. His hopes were smashed when Harry leaned in to whisper, “I won’t tell her you kissed back if you don’t tell anyone that I’m gay.”

All Louis could do was gulp and nod.

-

**2019**

Louis has been sitting in his car for ten minutes, willing himself to walk in. He watches as another group of people loudly greets each other near his car before heading towards the school, laughing and talking all at once. He sighs and tells himself to open the car door, to get out and face whatever’s going to happen when he’s in front of Harry for the first time in ten years.

He’s paralysed, though, unable to move. He’s petrified with fear and it’s taking every ounce of willpower that he has to refrain from driving away and hiding in his closet until it’s all over.

_His closet_. What apt imagery.

Louis takes a deep, steadying breath. He steps out of the car, the cool night air sending a shiver through his body as it hits his cold sweat.

He’s a _mess_.

Entering the school, Louis follows the signs pointing him towards the gymnasium, but he doesn’t need them. His muscle memory kicks in and leads him where he needs to go. He looks around and everything looks slightly off, like he’s only dreaming about the school. It all looks smaller than in his memories; duller, too, like he’s somehow magnified everything in his mind, made it all better than it was.

His years there were the best of his life, after all. He peaked at 18, like a sad stereotype.

The gymnasium has been decorated to make it slightly more inviting than its natural state, but the smell of dirty socks and teenage sweat still hangs heavy in the air. Louis makes a beeline for the bowl of punch, but he’s stopped and handed a sticker to write his name on and to glue to his shirt. He rolls his eyes as he obediently sticks it on, ducking out of the way before he has to make small talk.

None of his friends wanted to go, leaving him alone in a sea of strangers with familiar faces, cradling a plastic glass of punch by the buffet. He scans the crowd in search of Harry, worrying more and more that Harry decided not to go at the last second.

It’s hard to believe he used to be one of the most popular kids of his year. He didn’t care what others thought of him, he just existed as exuberantly as he wanted. Looking around, he knows he was friends with most of the people present and yet he can’t bring himself to go up to them and catch up. He dreads the questions, the sad and knowing glances, the barely veiled ‘you had so much potential and you ruined it’ judgements.

Paralysed with social anxiety, a new neurosis graciously brought on by adulthood, all he can do is wait the evening out. As soon as he sees someone leaving, he’ll follow them. He won’t be the first, that would be pathetic. Being the second will be acceptable.

A camera shutter brings him back to the moment and he’s gearing up to tell the person to piss off when his eyes land on them.

_Harry_. Louis looks up – and up and up – at him, the blood draining from his face. He looks even more handsome than what Louis had braced for, smiling at Louis like they’re old friends rather than the awkward, messy _almost-a-thing_ that they were by the end of the school year. With his shirt partly unbuttoned and his carefully tousled hair, Harry looks like someone at the peak of his youth, a man whose life is only getting better.

In contrast, Louis is visibly turning into a _dad_ , with the gut and the dubious clothing choices. It’s like there’s a whole decade between them, like Louis is nearing 40 rather than 30. It’s not fair.

“H-Harry?” he stammers out, clutching the glass tighter, making the plastic cave in with a crunch. He eases his grip.

“Tomlinson,” Harry replies, flashing Louis a smile. “You looked like the protagonist of an eighties movie, I couldn’t resist the picture.”

“I looked like what?”

“You know, those classic eighties American movies, where the hero’s standing by the side-lines at his school dance, waiting to be asked to dance? You looked like that.”

Ignoring the thumping of his heart, Louis raises his eyebrows. “You can tell me if my outfit’s outdated, I can take it.”

Harry laughs and reaches behind Louis to grab a sandwich, his arm brushing Louis’ on the way. He shivers.

“I knew the night was going to be lame, but I didn’t think it’d be _that_ bad,” Harry comments.

“Why did you come?”

Harry raises his camera. “I’m working.”

“Oh.”

_Oh_. Of course, Harry was hired for photos and that’s why he came. What did Louis expect, that he’d want to see anyone from his past? He only spent a year at their school and it didn’t go exactly well, thanks to Louis’ big mouth.

“Your friends aren’t there?” Harry continued. “Stan, Oli… and the others?”

“No, they used very colourful language to say what they’d rather do than come here.”

“Did your wife use the same language?”

Louis closes his eyes, exhaling loudly. He had hoped Eleanor wouldn’t come up so early in the conversation. Looking up at Harry, Louis shrugs.

“In London with her lover.”

Harry presses his lips together. “Sorry.”

“My daughter is staying with my mother.” Louis pauses, gulping down his glass of punch. “I knew you were wondering. It wasn’t just a rumour, Eleanor actually was pregnant and we kept it—her. She’s nine, now. Her name is Violet.”

Harry finishes his sandwich before he replies. “I know. I saw your Instagram profile. She’s gorgeous, by the way, she looks like you.”

Louis swallows thickly. “What about you?”

“No kid, no husband. Free as a bird and all that. And no friends here, either. You’re the only one whose name I could remember, actually.”

Louis nods. His palms have gone clammy and he desperately wants to wipe them on his trousers, but it would mean putting down his glass and he’s not sure he can reach the table without making a mess. He grips the glass tighter, once more making it crunch under the pressure.

The DJ has been playing songs from the late 2000s to set the mood and Louis enjoyed the nostalgia of hearing songs for the first time in a decade. It goes to hell when _Poker Face_ by Lady Gaga pours out of the speakers, adding a layer of irony to Louis’ already agonizing moment. Unless he’s visually impaired, Harry can definitely read Louis’ sad excuse for a poker face.

“So, my plan for tonight was to get embarrassingly drunk and hopefully forget it happened. Want to join?” Louis blurts out before silence settles between them and Harry decides to leave.

Harry hesitates and Louis regrets offering. “I’m working, technically. And there’s no alcohol in the punch, they couldn’t get a liquor license on time.”

“There’s no alcohol in the punch?!” Louis exclaims, his voice going squeaky on the last syllable. “I’ve been drinking gallons of it! Okay, this is officially the worst night of my life.”

“I’ll try not to take it personally,” Harry replies before chuckling.

“You’re the only redeeming part of it.” Louis sighs. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to resort to it, but…” he opens his jacket and partially pulls a flask out of his pocket to show it to Harry.

Harry laughs. “Your infamous emergency flask. I remember that.”

Louis nods and winks, cringing inwardly at how dorky he’s being. “I had a feeling tonight would be tough. Now, go get us drinks and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Louis watches Harry as he goes, biting his lip and wincing when he’s sure that he can’t be seen. It’s going well, better than he could have hoped for, really. Whatever happened between them has been put in the past, forgotten or forgiven, and there’s a chance they might even become friends if Louis plays his cards right. He still feels like he’s walking on eggshells, but he can see that there’s hope.

When Harry comes back with their glasses, Louis motions for him to follow and he leaves the gym for the toilets, holding the door open for Harry, a thrill of excitement going through him.

“I’m getting high school flashbacks,” Harry says once the door is shut behind them. He places the drinks on the counter and leans his hip against it, crossing his arms over his chest to watch Louis.

Louis laughs and nods. He unscrews the flask’s lid and pours its content in their glasses, filling them to the brim. “That’s going to be nasty,” he warns as he pockets the flask. “It smells like high school.”

Harry picks up his glass and sniffs it. “Hm, yes, that sweet smell of red food dye and regret.”

“I’m about to say something pathetic,” Louis warns, keeping his glass near his lips, ready to take a sip.

“I’m listening?” Harry is smiling, clearly amused.

“I can’t remember the last time I got drunk.” Louis takes a sip and grimaces, letting out a groan. “Oh, that’s even worse than I thought it would be.”

Harry tries the drink and shrugs. “I’ve had worse in college. But wait, don’t change the topic. You can’t remember the last time you got drunk?!”

Louis shakes his head no before nodding it towards the door, leading the way out of the toilets and back to the gymnasium. He takes a seat on a bench lined against the wall, waiting for Harry to join him before he replies.

“No. Probably… probably prom night, when Violet was… well. Conceived. Maybe a few times around her birth when I was losing my shit.” He grimaces. “Being a father kind of reduces the number of opportunities for getting pissed.”

“Oh! Okay, you’re talking getting proper pissed, I thought you said you hadn’t had, like, more than a beer in ten years. Me too, it’s been a while. Not since uni. But we’re not going to get drunk off your small flask. Sorry to ruin your dreams.”

Louis laughs. “We’re getting old, you never know, we might.”

With a sigh, Harry nods and takes a sip of his drink. “I have about a dozen white hair.”

“A dozen? Pff, that’s nothing.”

“alright, alright, Grandpa, no need to brag.” Harry laughs and winks at Louis.

Louis laughs, too, and his stress spikes when it fades into a lull in the conversation. Nothing about who he is as a person handles silence very well. It’s worse with Harry, he’s trying so hard to look good in front of him, and he begins to grasp at straws to get the conversation started once more. Something, anything.

“So, you take photos?”

“I do, yeah.” Harry laughs, not unkindly. “That’s my job.”

“That’s really cool,” Louis says, sipping his drink too fast. “And I saw you spent a semester in New York?”

“Three years, actually. Have you ever been?”

“To New York?” Louis scoffs. “Never left the country, mate.”

“Oh, wow, why not? You don’t like travelling?”

Louis sighs, shaking his head. This isn’t going as well as he first thought. “Having a child is expensive.”

“Oh…” Harry grimaces and takes a long gulp from his glass. “Shit. I forgot. You’re the first person my age that I know with a child, sorry.”

“I’m the only one I know, I can’t blame you.” Louis takes a deep breath and forces a smile on his face. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to let it get dark. It’s a fun night!” Louis knocks their glasses together and takes a sip, smiling when he sees Harry mirroring him.

“I should probably walk around and take pictures of people.”

“Probably. Do you want company?”

“If you don’t mind making small talk and holding my drink for me, sure.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, a few moments where Louis’ anxieties about the evening come back to the surface to remind him that he really doesn’t want to walk around talking to everyone, he agrees.

It becomes quickly apparent that Louis was worrying over nothing. With Harry by his side, he feels some of his former social confidence come back. Harry is a thousand times more charming than Louis ever remembered and he effortlessly talks with everyone, making them feel like they were high school best friends even if they never spoke before. Louis answers questions when they are directed at him, but for the most part, he’s content just to hold Harry’s drink and sip on his own, relishing in the thought that people probably imagine he and Harry are close friends. If he’s lucky, some of Harry’s cool vibe will transfer to him and everyone might forget he’s a teenage dad with a dead-end job.

After almost two hours, Harry finally sits down and he starts looking through the photos on his camera, nodding to himself. Their glasses are long gone, but Louis never left his side, and now he just waits to see what Harry will want to do next. He’s not even a little bit tipsy, to his dismay.

“I think I have everyone,” Harry says, looking up and smiling at Louis. “Except you.”

“You have me. You took a picture of me when I first got here, remember?”

“I do, but it’s not the best, look.” Harry moves through the pictures rapidly and hands the camera to Louis. “You look sad.”

Louis zooms in on his face and sighs. “I do, yeah. I wasn’t sad, it’s weird.”

“Some people have sad resting faces,” Harry says, shrugging. “And others have worries on their mind that show on their faces when they’re lost in thoughts.”

Louis looks up and meets Harry’s eyes. He presses his lips together and looks away, but not before his heart gives a flutter. “Let’s not talk about my failed marriage. Do you want to go sneak around the school?”

“Absolutely,” Harry replies, jumping to his feet.

The feeling Louis had earlier, that he was remembering things as bigger than they were, comes back in force when they make their way through the dim hallways. Every corner he looks at, everywhere his gaze lands, memories bubble up inside of his mind, more vivid than they’ve ever been in ten years.

“Oh!” Louis exclaims, trying a door handle and grinning when it opens. “This is where it all began!”

Harry follows him into the form room, looking around with a frown. “Nothing has changed. Not even the seats.”

“I’m not really surprised. The school’s never had any money, everything was mediocre.”

Louis sits down in the same seat he’d always take when he studied there, grinning. “These got more comfortable, though.”

Harry leaves his side and walks around the room, hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t get it, though,” he says as he looks closer at the poster advertising a concert by a band Louis has never heard of. “This isn’t where we met.”

“It’s where I first saw you, though, on your first day here.”

Harry stops walking, keeping his back to Louis. “You noticed me?”

“Hard not to.” The reply slips out of Louis’ mouth before he can stop it. He gulps.

“I noticed you, too.”

“That’s… funny.” Louis’ throat is dry, making his words come out in a croak.

Resuming his tour of the room, Harry still doesn’t turn around. “Hm. I thought about you, you know. I mean… when I agreed to come and take photos tonight. I hoped you’d be there.”

Louis keeps his eyes on Harry as he circles the room, coming increasingly closer. “I hoped you’d be there, too. It’s… it’s why I came, actually. I was going to decline before I saw your name.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see you. I thought… it felt like we had unfinished business,” he continues, clasping his hands together to hide that they are shaking.

“We didn’t part on good terms, no.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry turns around, looking at Louis for the first time since they ventured on the dangerous path of their past. “Is there a point to doing it?” He shakes his head. “I mean, it’d be useless to rehash the past only for the sake of doing it, without a, hm, purpose to it.”

“What purpose could we have? Closure is a good one, I think.”

“Not here, though. This place is making me depressed.”

Louis nods. “We could go to my house.”

“Will your parents be there?” Harry lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry, lame joke. It was funnier in my head. Yes, let’s go to your house.”

“Did you drive here? You can follow me with your car,” Louis says as he gets up and heads for the door, checking over his shoulder to make sure Harry is following.

“My mum drove me here, actually. I’m staying with her.”

“Should you text her to ask if you can break your curfew?” Louis asks, giving Harry a smirk.

“Will I break it? Won’t you drive me home on time?”

Louis shrugs. “Depends how the night goes.”

He didn’t mean it to come out flirtatious, but from the look of surprise on Harry’s face, it seems he missed the mark and accidentally flirted. Louis looks away before Harry sees the flush of mortification blooming on his face.

The silence that fills the space between them after Louis’ mistake doesn’t lift as they make their way to his car, nor does it dissipate when he begins driving towards his house. The radio is playing on low volume and Louis fears that reaching for the knob to turn it up louder would only make it more obvious that they’re uncomfortable around each other. Passing by a liquor store, Louis considers stopping, but he shakes his head and continues straight ahead. He doesn’t want the excuse of alcohol for anything that might happen between them in the coming hours. He wants to have a clear head.

“Nice house,” Harry says when Louis lets him in after the agonizing drive finally comes to an end. “Very cosy.”

“Code word for small, yes,” Louis replies, taking his shoes off and checking to make sure Harry does, too. He washed the floors only the day before.

“Code word for cosy. I meant it.”

Louis smiles and then motions for Harry to follow him to the living room. “Thanks. Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything to drink? Or eat, maybe?”

“I could drink tea.”

With a nod, Louis straightens a pile of magazines on the coffee table before heading for the kitchen. “Tea and biscuits, coming up.”

Grateful for the excuse to hide for a moment, Louis put the kettle on and rests his hands on the counter, leaning forward and exhaling loudly. Harry is in his house, sitting in his armchair, probably looking around at his family photos, _in his house_. He’s imagined this moment more times than he dared to count, especially when he was younger and still tortured by the turn his life had taken. He’d pour salt on his wounds by imagining he was raising Violet with Harry instead of Eleanor, making up elaborate daydreams about the life they would have together.

The kettle whistles, startling him back to the moment. He prepares their cups and grabs a box of biscuits from the pantry before popping his head back in the living room. He finds Harry standing in front of the wall of photographs, studying them like Louis had predicted he would.

“Hey, how do you take your tea?”

“Milk.”

“Got it.”

A few minutes later, Louis returns to the living room and carefully places their cups on the coffee table before putting down the box of biscuits he had squeezed under his arm. He sits on the couch, letting Harry have the more comfortable armchair.

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry says, taking his cup before he sits down. He blows on it a few times before he takes a sip. “Look at us, two old men drinking tea after they said they’d get drunk.”

Louis laughs. “I figured that if we’re going to talk, we should do it sober.”

“Very wise. Besides, I’m going to brunch tomorrow with my mum, I’d rather not be hungover.”

Louis nods. “I don’t think I could handle my child with my head pounding. Or my dog.”

“Yes! Your dog! I saw it on Instagram!” Harry says, perking up immediately. “Where is it?”

“At my mum’s. I didn’t know when I’d come back tonight so he’s spending the night there. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I can forgive you.” He laughs. “My flat’s too small to have a dog and I’m gone too much, it wouldn’t be good, but you have no idea how much I’d love to have one.”

“My life is definitely better since we have him, I understand. He’s my jogging partner.”

“You jog?”

Louis nods, reaching for a biscuit. “I used to be in really good shape, with footie and all, but I’ve let myself go.” He pats his stomach. “I’m getting a bit of a dad bod, lately. I’m not a fan.”

“I think you’re as handsome as ever,” Harry replies. He takes a sip of tea, looking at Louis over the rim of the cup. “Am I allowed to say that? Tell me if I’ve misread the situation.”

Louis swallows thickly. “You haven’t. I… I wouldn’t have invited you over if that wasn’t allowed.” He lets out a sigh. “So, hm. We said we had to talk.”

“Yes.” Harry shifts to sit on his legs, balancing the cup on the arm of the chair. “I suppose… I suppose my first question is whether I was deluded to think something might have happened between us, in school?”

“The big guns already, alright,” Louis says through a breath, shaken by Harry’s daring. “The answer’s yes, probably. I was… working through things, actively working through things. I suppose, in a way, I still am.”

“It doesn’t have to be black or white for everyone, you know. If the label doesn’t fit, don’t wear it.” Harry is cautious as he speaks and Louis hates that he feels he has to walk on eggshells around him.

“I don’t know.” Louis studies Harry for a moment, wondering how honest he can be. “I’m at the point where I wonder whether I’m not into women or just not into Eleanor.”

“Maybe you’re bi.”

Louis shrugs. “Maybe. But, yeah, as you said, no need for a label. I did… feel things for you, yes. You fucked me up with that kiss at the party, mate.” Louis chuckles. “And I suppose… everyone knew, except me. That’s why she turned so odious with you. And why she outed you. Through my own fault! I’m the one who broke our promise, I’m the one to blame.”

“You didn’t ruin my life, eh? I’m sure you beat yourself up over it, but you didn’t—it wasn’t _fun_ , but it wasn’t the end of the world.” Harry takes a biscuit and eats it before he speaks again. “My date at prom was to make you jealous, you know. Some desperate last attempt at getting your attention. I’d had a crush on you all year.”

“I think I knew.”

Harry nods. “I thought you did, too. I tried to be subtle, but no one is subtle at that age.” He takes a long sip of tea. “So, hm, we almost had something.”

“I’m not blaming you, okay? I just want to make sure we’re clear on that. I was going to ask you to go to prom with me when you came to school with a boyfriend.”

“You had your girlfriend…?” Harry is frowning, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. Louis hangs on to it to keep his courage.

“If you’d said yes, I would have ended it with her.”

“Well, shit. If I’d known.”

“Hm.” Louis sips his tea. “There’s so much that I would do differently. I can’t let myself go down that path, it’s too… it’s painful. But I know I’d have made a move on you, that’s the one thing I would definitely change.”

Louis doesn’t want to unload the entirety of his emotional baggage on Harry and it’s a tough balancing act, to open up without oversharing. He’s not sure where the words are coming from; he hadn’t come to that conclusion before this very moment, but things are clicking into place as he speaks, the act of saying them out loud acting as a catharsis for his ruminations.

“I wish I’d done one, too. I’ve never been the kind to push people to cheat, though.” Harry gives Louis a look that’s heavy with meaning.

It stings.

“Our relationship was never… a real one. I don’t know that I’ve ever been in love with her, to be honest. And now… now, we’re staying together for our kid.”

“Still.”

“I don’t know what to tell you…” Louis sighs, sinking deeper in the couch. “I didn’t invite you here hoping to… I don’t know. I invited you because I feel like we could have been good. As friends, or as something else, I don’t know. And yeah, I’m angry that I missed my shot because I was too scared to face the truth and… and I want to be brave.”

Harry is silent for a moment and Louis observes him as he drinks from his cup and nibbles on a biscuit. There’s a knot in Louis’ stomach that won’t ease up; it gets tighter with every passing second. He is too scared to admit it, but it feels like they’re on the edge of something that could potentially change his life forever, and it all hinges on Harry’s moral compass. Being brave looks more and more like a bad decision.

When Harry finally speaks up, Louis holds his breath, involuntarily. “I… I don’t want to be the cause of… more negative things in your life. If we… whatever we might do tonight, I don’t want it to be something you’ll look back on as the source of everything that went wrong, you know?”

Louis shakes his head. “Whatever might go wrong, I’ll always be the only one to blame. I fucked up my own life, I didn’t need anyone’s help. I just… I don’t want to miss another opportunity.”

“An opportunity? Which one?”

The blood drains from Louis’ face. “Oh, fuck, sorry. I… I misread… I thought… shit,” he mutters, rubbing his hand down his face. “Wow, I’m a moron.”

Harry clicks his tongue. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant… how are you… what do you think is going on? I want to be sure I think the same.”

With a sigh, Louis looks at Harry. He’s shaken from what just happened and he’s not sure he is brave, after all, or at least, brave enough for this. He licks his lips. “I feel like there’s… like, if I say the right thing at the right time, we might… f-fuck.” The word sounds absurdly obscene as it leaves Louis’ lips. He winces.

It shocks Harry, too; Louis sees him twitch as he hears it. His face softens, though, and he nods.

“Is that what you want?” Harry asks, holding Louis’ gaze steadily. Harry licks his lip, just a flick of his tongue, but Louis doesn’t miss it, something in his stomach twisting at the sight. “Because I’ve… thought about it. I’ll be honest.”

Louis’ breath itches. “You have?”

“Hm.” Harry looks away, reaching for a biscuit. “When I saw you’d be there tonight, I wondered if it might happen. There’s a part of me that wants fulfilment, you know? A conclusion to my high school crush.”

“Unfinished business, yeah. I feel that, too.”

Harry clears his throat. “Hm, so. Do we…?”

“If… if you want.” Louis swallows around the knot in his throat. His heart is hammering in his chest, making him feel out of breath.

With a nod, Harry gets up and joins Louis on the couch, sitting next to him, close enough for their knees to bump. He reaches up and strokes Louis’ cheek, barely touching it, and then smiles. “May I?”

Louis nods, his voice failing him. This is it, this is the moment he’s been daydreaming about for an entire decade. He’ll know, now, for sure, if his doubts that he might be into men are right.

Harry leans in and Louis’ eyes flutter shut a second before Harry presses his lips to his. Louis kisses back without missing a beat, lifting a hand to put it on Harry’s knee, as leverage, while he moves in closer, pursuing Harry’s lips to make sure the kiss never ends.

Louis would like to use a thousand colourful images to describe the kiss; he’d like to say it’s earth-shattering and that it marks the first day of the rest of his life. It’s not quite like that. Instead, it feels much simpler than that. It just makes sense. For the first time, Louis feels like his life makes sense.

Harry pulls back and Louis lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He lets his eyes flutter open and lowers his gaze when it meets Harry’s.

“So?” Harry asks through a smile. “Was it everything you hoped for?” Before Louis has the time to reply, Harry continues. “It was even better than I imagined it could be.” He laughs.

“We’d kissed before.”

“When we were drunk, yeah,” Harry replies, and Louis feels a twinge of something bright and happy that Harry remembers their drunk kiss so readily.

“Kind of messed me up,” Louis continues, forcing a laugh. “I remember loving it too much.”

Harry nods. “It fucked me up.”

“And… is it fucking you up now?”

“Never mind me. Is it fucking _you_ up?” he asks, running a hand through Louis’ hair.

Louis shakes his head. “I thought it would, but… it’s not. I feel nothing.”

He realises his mistake the second the words come out. Harry’s energy shifts and he inches away, frowning. He hurries to grab Harry’s hand, squeezing it.

“No. _No_ ,” Louis says, putting emphasis on his words to make the message clear. “I didn’t mean that. I meant, I don’t feel anything regarding Eleanor. I feel a lot of things about what we’re doing. What we’re choosing to do.”

“If you don’t want it to mean anything, it can mean nothing. I didn’t come here hoping for undying love.”

“Why did you come here?”

Louis knows he’s buying time. His nerves haven’t let up for a few days, now, and instead of relaxing at the thought of the inevitability of sex with Harry looming right in front of him, he feels even worse. He wasn’t even that nervous when he lost his virginity and he made a proper mess of the situation at the time. He wants—needs reassurance, though, a confirmation that he’s not about to cheat on his wife and put the final nail in the coffin of his wedding for it to mean nothing to Harry. He hopes he’s just a tiny bit important to him, still.

“I came here because I wanted to? Because…” Harry takes a moment to think about his reply and Louis is grateful to see he’s taking it seriously. “Because I was sure I would regret it if I didn’t. We keep talking about unfinished business and I hate to be repetitive, but, yeah… I wanted to… to see what could happen. I didn’t come here just wanting sex.”

Louis nods. “I’m not just using you to get back at my wife, or as… a litmus test.”

“I didn’t think that.”

Louis gives Harry a tight smile. “Should we move upstairs? I don’t… not on places where my daughter might sit.”

Harry agrees, standing up and offering his hand to Louis, who takes it gratefully. They make their way upstairs and Louis hurries to turn on his bedside lamp instead of the overhead light, not wanting to put his body on display.

Without daring to ask, Louis begins undoing the buttons of his shirt, glancing up to see if Harry is doing the same. His breath catches in his throat when he sees Harry standing right by him, an amused smile on his beautiful lips.

“What are you doing?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Harry rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. “There’s no hurry. Come on.”

Again, he takes Louis’ hand and pulls him along as he climbs on the bed, lying on his side and only letting go when Louis has done the same. With a soft smile, just a slight upturn of his lips that makes Louis’ heart flutter, Harry strokes his cheek and moves in for a kiss.

Louis lets his eyes close and tries to shut off his mind to enjoy the kiss. He can feel Harry’s five o’clock shadow scratching at the skin of his lips and cheeks, making his stomach swoop with appreciation.

Kissing Harry is good – it’s better than good, Louis has no words for it – and yet he can’t get out of his head. His thoughts are miles away, already thinking up ways to tell his mother what he did, and how it’s probably changing his life forever, and what might happen to his wedding now, which is a silly thought because there’s no indication that Harry will ever want to see him again after the night is over, a night that is happening in his _marital bed_ , no less.

Harry pulls back with a sigh and Louis realises he stopped kissing him back.

“You’re not here,” Harry comments, patting Louis’ cheek. “Should we stop?”

“No!” Louis exclaims, too loud. “No, no. I’m stuck in my head, that’s all. I’m nervous.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Louis shakes his head, working hard to try and find the one single source of his worry, hoping that if they address it, it might become quieter. “I just… I don’t want to be just one more guy, you know? Like… I mean, I don’t want to be another number in your phone.”

“I don’t…” Harry sighs and rolls on his back. “I’m not like that. I don’t really do one night stands, if that’s what you’re worried about?”

“You don’t?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, you’re… _wow_ , you know? You could have anyone.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t want anyone. I prefer sex with feelings.”

“And… there’s feelings here?”

“You really don’t believe it, huh?” With another sigh, Harry pulls his phone out of his pocket and goes through it in silence for a moment before handing it to Louis. “Conversation with my sister.”

Louis reads through it, feeling a blush creep on his cheeks as he realises Harry had the same hopes and worries he did before coming to the reunion. He, too, hoped the other would be there and he, too, hoped their old spark might return. He, too, hadn’t turned the page, yet.

“Reassured?” Harry asks when Louis gives him his phone back.

Scrunching up his nose, Louis nods. “Sorry, I’m not… I don’t cheat on my wife with a man every day.”

“You don’t?!” Harry asks, laughing. “You know, I’m a bit ashamed at how easily I handle being your mistress.”

Louis pushes him for his choice of words, before turning serious once more. “I make it easy for you by being entirely detached from her. It’s tough to care when I know she’s fucking another man right now, as we speak.”

“And you know that for sure?”

“I found condoms in her purse. They weren’t mine, we haven’t needed them in years.”

Harry winces. “You deserve better.”

“I have exactly what I deserve.”

“You don’t think you deserve to be happy? Everyone does, Louis. Why wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not unhappy.”

“It’s not the same as being happy.”

Harry looks too concerned for Louis to deal with it so he leans in and kisses him, thrilled to be initiating it for the first time. “Enough talking about my sad life.”

Conversation becomes difficult from that point on because Louis is finally getting into their kisses, his worries quieted enough to let him enjoy it and push for more. Harry’s large hands on him, their bodies pressing together, it’s all enough to finally turn off Louis’ mind and let him be in the moment.

Harry takes the lead, pushing his hand under Louis’ shirt, pushing it up. Louis tenses up when he runs his palm over the softest part of his tummy, but Harry doesn’t look disgusted, which is a good beginning.

The pause needed to take off their clothes threatens to pull Louis back into his thoughts, but Harry mimics being a stripper and Louis bursts out laughing, easing him back into it before it’s too late.

Harry is the first man he’s seen naked in a sexual context and, well. It’s a good first, if he’s honest. He can’t look away even as he fumbles to get back on the bed, his eyes devouring the planes of Harry’s chest and flat stomach, the faint lines of muscles, just there enough to hint at strength without being intimidating. His tattoos are a shock and Louis wants to spend hours detailing every single one of them with the tip of his finger or his tongue, but they don’t have time for that. Travelling further south, Louis’ gaze falls on Harry’s cock, semi-hard, and it’s overwhelming to know Louis will be allowed to experiment with it. No shameful glances, no aborted thoughts: in a moment, Louis will be allowed to do what he wants with it.

He can’t help the giggle that escapes him at the thought.

“It’s never recommended to giggle while looking at a naked man, you know,” Harry deadpans, raising his eyebrows.

That only makes Louis laugh louder. “Sorry, sorry, I was just thinking… I get to touch your cock. I’m allowed! I’ve never been allowed before!”

The smile Harry gives him in return is so soft that it makes Louis’ heartstrings ache.

“What?” he asks, self-consciousness bubbling in him when Harry won’t stop looking at him.

“You’re just…” Harry shakes his head. “It’s nothing like I imagined, that’s all.” Realising what he just said, he continues, “not in a bad way! But you were assertive in high school, so I suppose I imagined you’d also be like that in bed.”

Louis shrugs. “With women, maybe… but not with a man for the first time, I don’t think I could be assertive, no.”

Harry joins him on the bed and Louis moves back against the pillows, not quite sure what he’s supposed to be doing with himself. When he sees Harry lying down on his side, he mirrors him. His heart is hammering in his chest.

“I’m sure it’ll be better than anything I could have imagined,” Harry replies, leaning in to press a kiss to Louis’ lips.

Louis decides to go for it, to be brave and to stop worrying what Harry might think, and he pulls him closer, kissing him back with more intensity than he dared to all night. Harry replies in kind, shifting closer and bringing Louis up against him with a hand on the small of his back, pressing their bodies together and slipping a thigh between Harry’s legs at the same time. Louis makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat and he wraps a leg over Harry’s, wanting—needing to feel him against every inch of his skin.

He had worried it wouldn’t be good, at the start, because they were tip-toeing around each other and it had felt about as erotic as watching paint dry, but finally, _finally_ , they’re getting into it and it doesn’t feel like they’re doing it because they might as well, but because they want it.

Harry rolls them over, getting on top and between Louis’ legs, and Louis barely has time to wrap them around Harry’s waist that he begins kissing him again, slow and deep, soon matching his kisses with rolls of his hips. Louis isn’t quite sure what to do in return so he does the only thing he can think of and clings to Harry, kissing him through his moans.

“Wait, wait, Harry…” Louis says through his laboured breath, pulling out of a kiss with reluctance. “I don’t want… it’ll be over too fast.”

Obediently, Harry untangles his body from Louis’ grip and rolls off him, lying on his back by Louis’ side. “What do you want to try?” he asks and Louis could kiss him for being so perceptive.

He doesn’t fight the impulse for long and he kisses Harry. “I… everything?”

“Not _everything_ everything, though. I doubt you have what we’d need.”

A laugh bubbles out of Louis. “No, no, I don’t. But I want…” He inches his hand closer to Harry’s cock, hesitant. “May I?”

“Please.”

Louis takes Harry’s cock in his hand, biting his lip as he notices the differences between his own and Harry’s. Slowly, he begins moving his wrist, experimenting with different tightness until Harry lets out a moan and he knows he’s found something he likes. His own cock is throbbing, almost painful, but he ignores it entirely; its turn will come sooner or later, but for now he wants to see what he’s been missing his entire life.

He tears his eyes away from Harry’s flush, thick cock for a moment to look up at him and see if he’s enjoying himself. The sight he gets is sinful. Harry is sprawled on the bed, arms up to hold the pillow he’s resting on, his head thrown back and his lips parted to let out his short, stuttered breaths.

Inspired, wanting to give him more, Louis bends down and takes the tip of Harry’s cock between his lips, sucking tentatively. Harry’s body jerks and he moans.

“Oh, yeah, okay… keep that up,” he lets out and Louis grins, glad to get an approval he didn’t really need in the first place.

Louis does it again, this time taking more of Harry in his mouth, and he tries to remember the way it felt when Eleanor did it to try and reproduce the motions. The size and weight in his mouth are a surprise, something that had never been accounted for in Louis’ daydreams, and he can’t say he dislikes them. The taste, most importantly, is really doing it for him in a way he never expected. He shifts on the bed to lie on his stomach and instinctively, his hips begin rocking against the mattress, seeking friction.

Harry is straining as he tries not to buck up his hips. Louis can feel him tremble beneath him, and it’s maddening, the power he has in this moment. It’s probably not even good, too sloppy and slobbery, but Harry doesn’t seem to care, moaning and groaning as he does.

“Okay, okay,” Harry eventually chokes out. “Come here, come on.” He pulls Louis by the arm until Louis climbs up to kiss him, lying half on top of Harry, his hard cock pressed against his hip. “Hey, there,” Harry says against his lips, laughing softly. “Do you want help with that?”

Louis rolls his eyes and shifts so he’s fully over Harry, straddling his thighs, and he runs a hand down Harry’s chest. “I love your tattoos,” he says, letting his fingers linger over the patterns etched into Harry’s skin. “Very cool.”

“Oh, fuck, a dad thinks I’m cool, it means I’m uncool.”

“Fuck off,” Louis replies with a laugh that prompts Harry’s own.

Harry places his large hands on Louis’ thighs and strokes them a few times. “Do you want to try something?”

“Anything.”

“Move higher, to sit on my hips, yeah, like that,” Harry says, helping Louis get in position. He then fumbles behind Louis for a few seconds and Louis is about to ask what he’s doing when he feels Harry slipping his cock between his bum cheeks before grabbing them and squeezing them. “Good?”

“Oh… oh my god,” Louis gasps out, the sensation nearly sending him over the edge. “That’s… definitely new.”

He rolls his hips tentatively, testing the feeling and moaning softly when Harry continues massaging his bum while he begins pushing his hips up. His rhythm intensifies, turning into proper riding, and he places a hand on Harry’s chest for balance while his other one wraps around his own cock, pumping it fast as he arches his back under the pleasure.

He’s right on the edge, now, he feels it coming, and he pushes back against Harry’s hands, sounds pouring out of his mouth beyond his control, and it’s not long before he comes, splashing over Harry’s chest.

Everything in him wants to collapse down on the bed, but he stays in position so Harry can finish; he wants to feel him come between his cheeks, wants to know what that’s like. It only takes a few more minutes before Harry groans and digs his nails in Louis’ bum as he comes, the warmth spreading on Louis’ skin almost too much to bear. He moans, feebly, before lying down on Harry’s chest, realising a second too late that it’s going to glue their stomachs together.

“Wow…” Louis breathes out, shaken. “I’m _so_ gay.”

Harry laughs, barely audible. Louis feels it more than he hears it. “Yeah?”

“Completely.”

A shiver runs through Louis when Harry begins running his fingers up and down his back, barely grazing his skin. “It didn’t look like I was your first man.”

With a small laugh, Louis shrugs. “I’ve watched a lot of porn.”

Harry’s fingers move lower, down his spine and over the small of his back to reach his bum, where he grabs Louis’ bum and squeezes it. Louis moans in surprise.

“You have one of the best bums I’ve ever seen,” Harry tells him, giving it another squeeze. “Can I ask you something?”

“It’s real,” Louis deadpans and it takes a second for Harry to get it and laugh.

“Yeah, that wasn’t my question. I wanted to ask if I could take pictures.”

“Of my bum?”

“Yeah… I’m working on a series of pictures, basically… pictures of all the men I’ve been with. Anonymous, your face would be out of the frame. Well, it’s not all of them, some refuse, but, yeah…” Harry trails off.

It pains Louis to see that he’s embarrassed about his own work and his creativity. He nods and smiles at Harry.

“As long as we can’t see my face, I don’t see why not.”

Harry’s face illuminates at Louis’ words. “Yeah?” he asks again, as though he can’t quite believe it. “I’ll go get my camera, then!”

Louis climbs off Harry to let him stand up, their skins peeling from each other and making Louis laugh. He lies back on the bed as he waits for Harry to come back, allowing his mind to wander so he doesn’t accidentally overthink what just happened. He isn’t sure he ever enjoyed sex as much as he just did, except maybe when he was still brand new at it and any opportunity he had was the best day of his life.

He hears Harry running up the stairs and smiles, elated to be reminded that Harry is here, in his home. He keeps his smile on when Harry walks in, camera in hand. Louis turns on his side, sprawling lasciviously.

“Paint me like one of your French girls,” he drawls, batting his eyelashes.

All Harry does in reply is roll his eyes, which is fair. “Get on your belly, if you want.”

“I do want,” Louis replies pleasantly, turning again to lie on his stomach. He pushes himself up on his elbows and looks back, frowning. “Should I… clean up? Otherwise it’ll be a porno photo.”

“Yeah, I brought a towel, I got it from the bathroom, is that alright?”

When Louis nods, Harry gets closer to the bed and gently wipes the small of Louis’ back clean. The tenderness of the motion is not something Louis will dwell on at the moment. He’ll put it in a drawer in his mind and come back later to handle it.

“All good?” Louis asks when Harry steps back and he twists around to see him nod in reply. “How should I be?”

“Lay on your stomach, almost… almost like you’re sleeping, yeah?”

Louis gets in position, laying his head on a pillow with his arms around it and bending one of his legs to push his bum up. “Is that right?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s perfect,” Harry replies.

Louis shivers when Harry pulls the bedsheet halfway up his legs, brushing his skin with his fingers as he does so. He shifts to get more comfortable and then waits, his heart hammering in his chest. This might be the most erotic moment of his life.

“The photos will be black and white, I don’t know if I told you,” Harry tells him, his voice softer than before, making the moment even more intimate than it already was. “I wish we had sunlight coming in, but the whole concept is to take photos at the moment that _it_ happened, so… darkness it is.”

The sound of the shutter of Harry’s camera fills the room when he stops talking. Louis closes his eyes and relaxes his body, trying to be in the moment, to live this almost absurd footnote to his life to the fullest before it’s over and he goes back to his routine. Sleep keeps tugging at the corners of his mind, but he fights it, wanting to stay awake and enjoy Harry while he has him, worried he might leave his house and his life if he falls asleep now.

“Have you got all you need?” Louis eventually asks when the struggle becomes tedious. “Should I move?”

“No, I’ve got it all. Thank you. Do you want to see?”

Louis rolls on his back, pulling the bedsheet up and over his stomach as he does so. “No, not now. Remind me tomorrow, though.” He yawns, readjusting the pillow under his head.

“Tomorrow…?” Harry asks and it’s only then that Louis notices he’s putting his clothes back on.

It feels like the bottom of his stomach has dropped out. “Aren’t you sleeping here?”

“I… I wasn’t going to…” Harry stops mid-motion, leaving his shirt half-undone. Louis has to look away.

“We just fucked, I thought you’d sleep over… I was going to make breakfast.”

Louis had imagined it all: waking up next to Harry, quietly slipping out of bed and cooking him eggs and bacon, bringing it up to bed and waking him with soft kisses. He had the perfect romcom scenario in his head and he never stopped to imagine Harry might not stay the night.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea…”

Louis sits up, clutching the sheet to his chest as he crosses his arms over it. “Why not?”

“You’re married.”

With a roll of his eyes, Louis groans. “That again… I thought we’d talked about it. I told you my marriage is a sham.”

“But you’re still married, Louis. I have no interest in becoming your lover, alright? I won’t be a homewrecker.”

Louis bites his lip to stifle the onslaught of emotions that threaten to spill out of him. He knows that Harry is right to leave. If he stays, it opens the door to attachment and with attachment comes complications with, at the end of the road, divorce. He doesn’t want to put Violet through a divorce.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, bracing himself. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Thank you.”

When Harry turns to continue dressing up, Louis hurries to get his bathrobe, now entirely self-conscious about his body and the way in which it’s inadequate next to Harry’s. Without a word, Louis waits until Harry has gathered his things before he heads downstairs, checking that he’s following. He stops before he opens the front door, keeping his back to Harry.

“Thank you, for tonight. For… for showing me what I could have.” Louis swallows and starts again. “It was great seeing you again.”

“You, too,” Harry replies. Every drop of warmth has seeped out of Harry’s voice. He’s as formal as if they were strangers. “I’m sorry… the situation isn’t ideal…”

“No, it’s not.” Louis’ words come out tight, as though he had to squeeze them out of his throat. “Do you want a ride?”

“No, thank you.”

Louis nods to himself and opens the front door, shivering as the cool night air flows into the house. “We’ll stay in touch, yeah?”

“I don’t know if it would be a good idea,” Harry replies and Louis knew he would say that. He had to give it a try, but he knew. “For your own good.”

“You’re right, yeah, probably. You should go, now.” He holds the door open for Harry.

Harry leaves the house, but he stops a few feet from the door, turning to face Louis. “I wish it could be different,” he says. He keeps his voice low, but the street is asleep and his words carry to Louis quite clearly.

“I wish it could, too,” Louis replies.

Harry nods, licks his lips. “If they change… let me know.”

“Yeah.”

Louis closes the door after that, unable to keep looking at Harry. He rests his forehead against it and tries to control his breathing, tries to control his mind, tries to control his body so he doesn’t break into a run after Harry, pleading and dragging him back to his bed.

With one last, sharp inhale, Louis locks the front door and heads back upstairs. He strips the sheets out of his bed and puts in a new set, frantic to get rid of Harry’s smell. If he’s choosing married life, he better choose it wholeheartedly.

No compromises, no weakness.

-

**2020**

Louis rolls over in bed and fumbles with his phone to hit snooze on his alarm. He stretches, taking up the entire bed just for the sake of it and then sighs. He won’t go back to sleep, but he can at least enjoy a moment of peace before his day gets started.

There’s a soft knock at the door and he looks up to see Violet standing in the doorway.

“Come here, baby,” he tells her, smiling.

She climbs into bed with him and curls up into his side, squirming under the covers as she does. He runs a hand through her hair and kisses her forehead.

“You’re awake early,” he whispers, careful not to break the spell of the morning too fast.

“I don’t feel good,” she whispers back and Louis can immediately tell that she’s faking. It’s a blessing, really, to know that his daughter is a terrible liar.

“Yeah? What is it?” He presses a hand to her forehead, just in case. It doesn’t feel warm to the touch.

“My tummy and my head hurt.”

“I have to go to work, today, my love. You can’t stay home.”

“I could go to Nan’s?”

Louis sighs, trying to put himself in her shoes before he replies. “I’ll call her to ask.”

Careful not to jostle her too much in case she truly feels ill and it makes her sick in his bed, Louis grabs his phone and heads downstairs.

“Hey, Mum,” he says when his mother picks up. “Sorry to call so early. V says she feel sick again.”

On the other end of the line, Jay sighs. “ _Again? It’s the fourth time in two weeks. You’re not letting her stay home, are you?_ ”

“I can’t, I have to work. But maybe you could take her?” he says, squeezing his phone between his ear and his shoulder to fill the kettle.

“ _Louis, you know she’s manipulating you, yeah?_ ”

He puts down the kettle with too much force, wincing at the sound. “I know she is, but I feel too guilty to force her to go, alright? I…” he sighs, “I thought after a few months, it would become easier, but it’s been almost nine months, now, and she’s still… she’s still struggling.”

“ _I know, honey. You and your sisters were devastated when I left Mark, do you remember?_ ”

“Yes. It’s why I want to give her time to… to process it all. I know she misses her mum and I’m trying to work out a way to send her to London to see her, but _she_ is not being cooperative at all. It’s obvious it’s the least of her concerns and I…” Louis shakes his head, not letting himself go down that road so early in the morning. “Can you take Violet for the day or not?”

“ _Yes, honey. I will. Drop her off on your way to work._ ”

“Thanks.”

Louis puts the kettle on and slides two slices of bread in the toaster, letting Clifford out in their yard before going back upstairs. He pokes his head into his room.

“Nan will take you for the day. I’ve got to take a shower, but the kettle’s on and there’s toast on the way. Will you be okay?”

Violet nods and sits up slowly, putting on a show. Louis has to give her points for the efforts. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Louis hurries through his shower routine; the detour to drop off Violet will shave precious minutes off his day. Fifteen minutes later, he finds her in the kitchen, making him breakfast. He gives her a warm smile and thanks her before sitting down and enjoying the few minutes of respite he gets before he calls the dog back inside and they rush out of the door to start their day.

It’s been weird since Eleanor asked for a divorce and moved to London with her lover. First, the simple thought of it is enough to send Louis reeling, wondering how exactly his life spiralled out of control so fast. He can’t comprehend how, while he was with Harry and contemplating how his life might be if he were free, Eleanor was experiencing the same kind of freedom and making the opposite choice, deciding that a decade’s worth of efforts wasn’t worth saving.

He’s never been able to blame her, though, because she did hand him his own liberty on a silver platter. He has the good role, in the story, that of the cuckolded man who is being abandoned with his daughter even though he did nothing wrong. It almost sickens him to see how much easier he’s having it than, say, his mother ever did after a divorce.

Not that it’s been entirely easy; the past months have been hell, both emotionally and financially, and he’s only now barely getting his head out of the water. As for Violet, he can’t let himself think too much about how she’s coping. It would cripple him, if he did. He has to repeat _ad nauseam_ that they did what was best, given their options. That he got custody because Violet chose to stay with him, that he’s not to blame for keeping her away from her mother.

The first couple of months were the hardest, he felt directionless and paralysed, unable to get himself back on his feet, and he knows Violet noticed it, which might explain why she’s still struggling as much as she was when it first happened. He did get himself back on track, though, and he took some major decisions as well.

The first was to delete Harry from every social media he had followed him on. He was sinking down into some pretty dark corners of his mind, regretting every little thing he said on their fateful night together, especially regretting that he didn’t toss his entire life aside for the man. It wasn’t healthy, so he flushed him out of his life to be able to move forward.

The second is still new, and terrifying. About a month ago, he created a profile on Grindr and went on two dates. They were disasters, but they were with men, and when they kissed him and took him to their beds, Louis wanted it, and enjoyed it. It wasn’t just Harry; he truly is attracted to men. He knew from the start that the dates were dead-ends, but it felt good to be desired, to remember that he’s attractive.

Work isn’t better, though, and he’s putting in more hours than ever, probably in an unconscious attempt to drown out his worries. He gets home too exhausted to think, on most days, and that day is no exception.

He’s ready to crawl into bed when he parks in front of his mother’s house to pick up Violet and he takes a few seconds in his car to gather his composure before he goes in, hoping that his mother won’t notice his foul mood.

Once ready, he gets out of the car and walks up to the door, knocking before entering. “Hey, I’m here!” he calls as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Hey, Mum.”

“Hi, darling,” she says, turning from the stove and frowning as soon as she sees him. “You look exhausted. Stay for dinner so you don’t have to cook, there’s enough for you and Violet.”

Louis opens his mouth to protest, but considering that his plan was ordering pizza, he has no arguments. With a nod, he sinks into a chair. “Thanks, yeah, I’m tired, so… yeah. It’ll be great to have dinner here. How’s she been?”

“She’s been good. She helped me around the house and we ran errands together.”

“Thanks for having her today. I know I shouldn’t… buy into her acting, but I don’t have the heart to force her to go to school.”

“You both need time to adjust, it’s still fresh. You do what you think is best for your kid, love.”

With a sigh Louis wasn’t even aware he was holding in, he shakes his head. “I’m not sure I know what that is.”

“I don’t either and I’ve got seven kids,” she replies with a laugh. “Go set the table, now, dinner is almost ready.”

Louis obeys, feeling like he’s jumped back ten years, the mundanity of the actions like putting on a pair of old slippers. It doesn’t get any better when everyone gathers around the table, loud and enthusiastic to have him over on a week day, and his sisters are talking over each other while Louis teaches Ernest how to make a volcano out of his mash and gravy, and for a moment Louis can almost forget that he’s an adult with responsibilities.

“Oh, Louis, I meant to tell you,” Jay says halfway through the meal, “V and I saw Anne, Harry’s Styles mother, at Tesco this afternoon.”

Louis freezes for a second before he swallows his sip of juice through his tight throat. “I thought they’d moved back to Manchester?”

“They have, but they’re in Donny to visit her husband’s mother.” She smiles. “She told me that her son has an exhibition opening in Manchester next week, what was it called, V, do you remember?”

“ _The Lovers_ ,” Louis replies, too fast. He clears his throat. “He told me about it, at the school reunion.”

“Yes, that was it! She said it was a commentary on… hm,” his mother screws up her face as she thinks and Louis braces himself. Nothing that’s about to come out of her mouth can be good. “The fleeting nature of temporary encounters, or something artsy like that.”

“Hookup culture,” Louis mutters. He’s never been more fascinated by green peas in his entire life, pushing them around his plate like the action is the last barrier preserving his sanity.

Jay shrugs. “I thought you could make a trip out of it, with V? It’d be good to get out of your routine, wouldn’t it?”

“Can we go, Daddy? I’ve never been to Manchester!” Violet adds in, holding her hands together in prayer and giving him pleading eyes. “Please, can we go?”

Louis really wishes he could die on command, just drop dead so he doesn’t have to handle the direction this conversation has taken.

“It’s… not a good idea,” he says, cautious.

“Why not? We can go on a weekend, I won’t even miss school!”

“The exhibition isn’t for children, it’s…” he sighs; he can’t believe he has to say these words around children. “It’s erotic pictures of the men he’s slept with.”

Dan chokes on his bite of mash and he has to wash it down with water while Jay can barely hold in her laugher. Louis’ older siblings are biting back smiles. Time stands still, the length of a breath.

Violet scrunches up her nose. “Ew, I don’t want to see it.”

It breaks the ice and everyone bursts out laughing, allowing Louis to relax. “So, yeah… I’m not taking my kid to Manchester for that.”

“No, that’s quite naughty,” Jay says as she gets up to gather their empty plates.

Louis jumps to his feet to help her, ignoring her protests and putting a hand on Dan’s shoulder so he’ll stay put. He follows his mother to the kitchen and shuts the door behind them. Jay gives him a quizzical glance, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m in the exhibition,” Louis says, barely louder than a breath.

Jay’s eyes widen before she gives him a bright smile. “Are you? You and him…?”

Louis hums in reply, his lips pressed together.

“Was it… what you expected?”

Another hum. He can’t bear to look at her, he keeps his eyes on the dishes he’s emptying in the bin. “I’ve been with a couple of others, since…”

Jay strokes his back a few times. “You should go to Manchester, go see him.”

“We didn’t part on good terms.”

She is silent for a moment. “You’re divorced, now, though. It’s different. What’s the harm in trying?”

“Pain? Heartbreak? Humiliation?”

“Or happiness.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s my school crush, not the love of my life.”

“You never know,” Jay replies and when Louis looks up at her, she’s smirking.

He scoffs. “Come on, Mum.”

“Don’t ‘come on, mum’ me! Don’t forget that I saw how you were around him when you would invite him over!” She laughs. “What’s the harm in going to see his exhibition? If he’s there, then good, otherwise you’ll just get a well-deserved weekend off.”

“Hm,” is all Louis replies before pushing her away from the sink so he can wash the cauldrons, shooing her back to the dining room when she picks up a dishcloth to help.

Her words stick with him throughout the rest of the evening, spinning around his mind dizzyingly, pushing him to go for a jog once they get back home, his first in months. He changes while Violet is showering and then allows her to watch television until he’s back, planting a kiss on her forehead before he grabs Clifford’s leash and heads out.

The jog is a nightmare, he’s lost every last bit of progress he had gained and within minutes, he has to stop and walk off a stitch in his side. The pain helps to clear his mind, at least, and he clings to it while he can. Sooner than later, he’ll have to go back home, put Violet to bed and be left alone with his thoughts.

He walks the rest of his usual trail, lacking the motivation to start running once the pain has receded, and despite that, he gets home too fast. Louis takes a deep breath before he enters the living room to try and look normal, and he manages to keep up the act until Violet is in bed and he has showered off his sweat and slipped into bed.

Louis stares at the black screen of his phone for a moment, still unsure if he’s made a choice, yet. With a sigh, he begins by navigating to Harry’s professional Facebook page, where he finds an event for his exhibition. He opens it and reads the information before he commits to anything. It’s only up for two weeks, running until the following Sunday night, and that only gives him nine days to plan a trip to Manchester. It’s tight. He could use that as an excuse not to go, but he can’t commit to that choice as much as he can’t commit to going.

He browses through the pictures from the opening night and freezes when he sees one of Harry next to a large – _very_ large – picture of his bum. Louis zooms in, his heart hammering in his chest, and he swallows around a lump in his throat. A part of him had thought Harry might not use his picture, not after the way they parted, but not only did he use it, but he seems to have posed next to it several times.

Louis cannot read too much into this. He just can’t.

He lets his thumb hover over the ‘I’m interested’ button, unsure if he’s brave enough, before he shakes his head and presses it. It’s unlikely that Harry is hounding the event, checking the names of everyone who shows interest.

Louis leave his phone on his bed while he goes to get a cup of tea and when he comes back and checks it, he feels his heart sink. He has a new message from Harry.

With a shaky breath, Louis opens the message, prepared for the worst.

_Hey, Louis. If you come to my exhibition, let me know and I’ll make sure to stop by the gallery :)_

He exhales loudly and closes his eyes for a moment before he replies: _Hey. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it, life’s pretty busy right now._

Louis stares at his phone, at the three dots that keep appearing and disappearing as Harry types a reply.

_Let me know anyway. Btw I’m sorry about your marriage. My mum saw yours today and they gossiped. I’m really sorry._

Louis hesitates before he types: _Don’t be. It’s for the best. But she fucked off to London so idk if I can leave my kid a whole weekend_

_Gotcha, don’t worry._

With a sigh, Louis locks his phone and runs a hand down his face. Harry had said to let him know if things changed in his marital status and he didn’t. He couldn’t say why, exactly, but he didn’t let him know. There might have been a bit of shame in that decision, considering his marriage shattered two days after Harry walked out.

Thinking back to how his heart went wild when he saw Harry’s message, Louis picks up his phone again and begins looking at hotel prices near Harry’s gallery. The prices are way out of his budget, so he turns to Google Maps to double-check that he can do it in a day. Besides, what would he do on his own for two days in Manchester?

Bracing for the taunts that will follow, Louis sends a text message to his mother to know if she would mind having Violet over for a day the next weekend even though it’s not the one Louis usually works. She agrees almost immediately and Louis ignores the rest of her message, rolling his eyes at her predictability.

He doesn’t tell Harry about his plan.

-

Every day leading up to his trip to Manchester, Louis thinks he can’t possibly become more nervous, and every day he’s proven wrong. By the time Saturday rolls in, he can barely sleep or eat, and the urge to tell Harry grows stronger.

He doesn’t want to, though, because he has an entire scenario ready: he’ll go to the gallery, unannounced. If Harry is there, it’s fate. If he’s not, it’s also fate, albeit a very disappointing turn of it. By acting this way, he doesn’t have to commit to anything, neither opening up to the possibility of _something_ with Harry, nor closing that door permanently.

Louis drops off Violet and Clifford at his mother’s house, leaving as fast as he can when Jay gives him a knowing look, and he gets on the road. He can’t remember the last time he had a whole day to himself and he smiles, deciding that no matter what happens, he will enjoy it.

He turns the music up and sings along, stops to buy junk food without letting guilt creep in, and by the time he gets to Manchester and lets his phone’s navigation step in to guide him to the gallery, he’s feeling almost good about it.

Louis double checks the address on Facebook when he gets to the building, confused. He thought he knew what art galleries can look like, mostly from movies and television shows showing brightly lit spaces with exposed brick walls and high ceilings, but what he’s standing in front of looks like a shop. He can see through the windows that it’s not, but the façade is nothing like what he expected. For a split second, he wants to turn around and leave. The space is too small, he won’t be able to hide.

Shaking his head to push the thoughts away, Louis pushes the door and walks in, walking up to the counter to know if he has to buy a ticket or mention why he’s there. The girl sitting behind it, the epitome of an art student with her pink, asymmetrical hair and her thrifted clothes, looks at him like he’s grown a second head. He presses his lips together and walks towards the first wall, shoving his hands in his pockets. He feels as old as the Earth itself.

The hardwood floors creaks under his steps and it echoes around the mostly empty space, deafening in the silence. There are only three other people in the gallery and they look like they could be friends with the girl from the counter, making Louis the only outsider to come in on a Saturday afternoon to look at erotic pictures. He swallows thickly.

Louis takes his time looking at the pictures, his heart hammering in his chest as he expects Harry to show up at any second even though, unless he has a sixth sense, it’s unlikely. He also dawdles because he’s in no hurry to get to his bum, not quite ready mentally to see it and be reminded of the context in which the picture was taken.

The pictures all show fit men, all very obviously naked although it never turns bawdy; Harry made sure to toe the line between pornography and erotica, and even when cocks are visible, it’s done with taste. Louis still blushes, though. That can’t be helped. His slight embarrassment turns to surprise when he sees the picture of a woman—a girl, really, the label only saying ‘ _A. 2012. NYC.’_ A girl he met when he was living abroad, then. Louis moves closer, fascinated by the concept that Harry had doubts, too. The girl is sat by an open window, smoking out of it, and her face is cast in shadows, partially hidden by a cascade of long, wavy hair. Her nudity looks mundane, almost proud. Hers is the only picture showing the subject from head to toe and Louis would have a million questions if Harry were here.

He sighs and moves along, now only one picture away from his own. He tries to focus on what he’s looking at, someone’s chest with one arm bent in front of it, a certain _N. 2016. London._ , but gives up and moves along to the reason he’s there.

It’s surreal to see his own arse up on the wall. He can’t say he’s ever seen it head on, either, so it really doesn’t feel like his own body. Louis doesn’t need to look down to the label to know what it says. _L. 2019. Doncaster_.

He hears footsteps crossing the gallery, but he doesn’t dare look over his shoulder. He’s getting his hopes up and he refuses to give up on them just yet. He wants to pretend for a few more seconds that it’s Harry coming up to him and that he’ll whisper in his ear as a greeting, perhaps also putting his hands on Louis’ waist to hold him there, to make sure he’s truly there.

The steps are getting closer and Louis gets the weird shiver of perceiving someone entering his space before he hears a shaky exhale, right behind him. He holds his breath.

“You came,” Harry says, barely above a breath.

The silence in the gallery feels sacred and Louis nods before breathing out his reply: “Yes.”

Two more steps break the silence as Harry moves to stand by his side and Louis finally tears his eyes away from the photo to look at him.

“You didn’t tell me,” Harry says, keeping his voice quiet.

Louis shrugs, wipes his clammy hands on his jeans. “I was… scared. Worried. I don’t know. A coward, perhaps.”

“Scared of what?”

“We’re… I’m… not married anymore. You wanted to know if I ever wasn’t, so I… it felt like something big.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, that night. I was harsh, I regret what I said.”

Louis shakes his head. “You were right.” He swallows and nods towards the pictures. “Give me a tour?”

Harry is silent for a moment and Louis licks his lips, nervously. “Only if you pay me a drink, after,” he finally says.

“Deal,” Louis blurts out. He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure, and he points at the photo of A. “A girl?” he asks, but the words come out almost harsh and he winces.

Harry takes his arm and moves them to stand in front of it. “A friend. I was curious. She’s one of the earliest photos I had. Some were so old the subjects were minors so I couldn’t use them.”

“Your prom date?” Louis asks, the words spilling out against his will.

“The first picture, yes. The… the _first_. But he was seventeen when I took it, so I couldn’t expose it.”

Louis nods, something sharp and white-hot twisting in his stomach. He pulls Harry away, hooking their arms, and back to the beginning of the exhibition. “Tell me everything.”

Harry hesitates for a moment, shifting his weight on his feet, before he begins telling Louis the stories behind the pictures, his initial shyness melting away, easing the flow of his words.

It quickly becomes obvious that Louis cannot handle the stories. Jealousy fills his veins, cold and toxic, and he focuses on the slow, calming rhythm of Harry’s voice rather than his words. His words hurt him, highlighting how different their lives were, and Louis can’t stop his mind from drawing comparisons between the events Harry describes and what he was doing with his own life at the time, changing diapers and moping spilled cereals while Harry was being young and free. Louis has never seen before in such stark details how he had no youth and it’s making him dizzy.

By the time they reach the last picture, Louis almost regrets coming. His only anchor is Harry’s arm looped through his.

“That’s quite an eventful life!” Louis comments when they’re – finally – done.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know, compared to some of my friends, it’s tame.”

Louis rolls his eyes, forcing his mood to lighten up. “You’re the wildest person I know.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I hang out with parents, have you forgotten?”

With a laugh, Harry nods. “That’s fair, I suppose.” He licks his lips and glances at their entwined arms before looking away quickly. “Did you have plans for the rest of the day?”

“Not really, no.” Louis’ heartbeat picks up.

“It’s early for dinner, but I’m starving… do you want to grab a bite with me?” Harry rubs the back of his neck as he asks.

Before he can form an answer, Louis begins nodding. “Yes, I could eat. And I’d love to.”

Harry smiles, bright and happy. “Great, I know a place just around the corner, it’s amazing, come on.”

Louis lets Harry drag him along, waving at the girl behind the counter when Harry does. He wonders if the girl thinks he’s one of the portraits, and if so, which one. A hint of long-buried pride sparks inside of him, for a second.

The pub Harry takes them to is unexpected in the sense that Louis expected Harry to be into bird food and reclaimed wood, but the dark panelling on the walls and worn seats reassure Louis that he’ll find something to eat that’s not made out of anything fermented. Harry chooses a booth at the back of the pub and Louis slips on the seat in front of his, smiling tightly before he grabs the menu to keep busy.

“I’m really glad you came,” Harry says after several minutes in silence. “I didn’t dare invite you, not after the way I treated you.”

Louis waves his hand, dismissive. “I earned it. I pushed towards sex, even if I could guess you had trouble with the… the whole ‘cheating’ part of it. I never blamed you for walking out, if it’s what you’re worried about. I knew you were right.”

Harry breathes out, relief visible in his traits. “I was worried you’d hate me because of it.”

“No, no. I… I wanted to let you know when I got the divorce, but I didn’t want it to look like I was running back to you.”

With a nod, Harry picks up the drinks menu and peruses it. “Don’t forget you owe me one,” he mentions, tapping the top of the menu with a finger, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Gladly,” Louis replies.

The waitress comes to take their orders, giving Louis a few minutes to breathe through the tension. It feels a lot like a date, or at least he hopes it could be one, and now that he’s single, there’s an entire world of possibility that has opened for them; he hopes Harry is thinking the same, that he, too, is relieved that Louis is finally free.

“I’m sorry I deleted you from social media,” Louis says when the waitress leaves. “I couldn’t… deal with all of _this_ at once.”

“I get it, don’t worry. We both did what we had to.”

Louis nods and, unconsciously, begins fiddling with the edge of his paper placemat. “I’m single now, though.”

It’s Harry’s turn to nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ve… dated a few men. Well, two. And… dated is a strong word. I tried Grindr, is more accurate.”

“And?” Harry smiles at the waitress when she brings their drinks.

Louis takes a long sip of his beer before he answers. “It wasn’t just you. I like men.”

Harry drinks, but he’s not quick enough to hide the smile that blooms on his face. “It’s good that you know for sure, now.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Louis looks around the room, up at the Tiffany lamp hanging over their heads, trying to find something to say. The silence stretches between them, growing heavier. “Congrats on the exhibition,” Louis finally says. “Is it your first?”

“The first on my own, yeah.” Harry breathes out, eyes wide. “It still feels unreal.”

“Tell me all about it.”

Harry begins telling Louis the story, his tale running well into their meals arriving, and Louis listens to every word, drinking them in, mesmerised by the passion on Harry’s face as he talks. The way his heart beats faster is nothing but bad news.

When he quietens, Louis raises his glass. “To your success.”

Harry clinks their glasses. “And to us meeting again.”

Louis presses his lips together and takes a sip of beer. “Yes. Definitely.”

Their conversation stays mundane as they eat, small talk that makes Louis want to crawl out of his skin. He wishes they would broach more important topic, but he’s too scared of them to initiate it, so he skirts around, going as low as talking about politics so he can keep the lid on his emotions tightly screwed on.

It eventually wanes and they’re plunged into silence once more, and Louis can’t stay distracted by eating because his plate is empty. He drains the dregs of his beer.

In front of him, Harry does the same and smiles at Louis. “If you’re in the mood for dessert, I made a whole pan of brownies last night and I could use help to eat them.”

Louis’ stomach makes a loop as his heart goes wild. He’s seen enough movies to know what’s happening. “I have a massive sweet tooth.”

“I remember,” Harry replies, smiling.

Louis smiles, too, flustered for the first time in years. He puts a hand on Harry’s when he reaches for his wallet. “My treat.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but Louis shoots him a glance that shuts him up. “Thanks,” he says instead.

“How’s the parking near your flat?”

“Hm, I don’t have a car, so I don’t know. Adequate?”

Louis nods. “Okay, we’ll work it out.” He gets up and they head out, Louis leading them to his car.

The silence on the ride to Harry’s flat rivals the one they endured while Louis was driving them to his house, months ago. The same stakes seem to be up, and he feels a mixture of anticipation and sheer, overpowering panic.

Finding a parking spot takes a while and Louis is worried he’ll actually start sweating from how nervous he is. If what he thinks will happen is about to happen, the last thing he wants to be is clammy.

Louis is genuinely surprised when they get to Harry’s flat. He expected an airy loft with bay windows and exposed brick walls, the epitome of an artist’s dwelling. Instead what he’s led to is a cramped one bedroom flat with mismatched furniture and a very obviously second-hand couch. Above it, the wall is covered in an arrangement of framed pictures in varying sizes. Louis walks over to look at them closely.

“So, hm, that’s where I live,” Harry says, visibly uncomfortable.

“It’s very cosy,” Louis replies, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he remembers Harry used the same word to describe his house. “I don’t know why, but I imagined you lived in a loft.”

“That’s a nice thought, but no.” He laughs. “This is all I can afford.”

“It’s lovely, I mean it. Did you take these pictures?” he asks, pointing at them.

“Yes. I’ll take the brownies out,” Harry says, and before Louis can offer to help, he has fled the room.

It would seem Louis is not the only one who’s nervous.

Harry comes back a few minutes later and hands Louis a bowl with a square of brownies and a scoop of ice cream on it, already melting from the warmth of the dessert.

“Thanks.” Louis sits down on the couch and watches as Harry takes the seat next to his. He takes a bite of brownies and nods. “Delicious. I remember you liked to cook, I see you still do it.”

“I still love to, yes,” Harry replies. Louis feels the weight of Harry’s gaze on him and he looks up, ready to say something, anything. Harry speaks before he can. “I’m glad you’re single, now. I didn’t say it at the restaurant, but… I mean it.”

Louis smiles, shy. “I’m glad you are, too.”

“Seeing you at the reunion, it… brought back to the surface a lot of things I had buried,” Harry continues and Louis goes from enjoying the brownies to stress-eating it. “I don’t think I ever got over you, which is stupid, I know, it was almost eleven years ago and we were only friends, but…” Harry trails off and breathes in loudly.

“Go on,” Louis whispers, too in shock to say anything else.

“I don’t know… we clicked in school. I’ve never had that with anyone else since. And…” Harry shuts his eyes, as though he is too scared of what he’s about to say to look at Louis. “And I really feel like I’d regret it if I didn’t take a chance and went for it.”

Louis exhales loudly, his heart in his throat. “I… I agree.”

Harry places his bowl on the coffee table and Louis mirrors him, and before he can brace for it, Harry leans in and kisses him, a soft press of his lips.

Louis lets out a laugh and shakes his head when Harry’s eyes widen. “My mum was sure this would happen.”

Harry laughs, too, relaxing. “Mine kept telling me to invite you because she was sure it would happen, too.”

It only makes Louis laugh louder. “Have our mums planned all of this?”

“Oh, fuck, I hope not. She’ll never let me live it down.”

“My mum’s the one who told me about the exhibition and who pushed to make me come.” Louis groans before he laughs. “They set us up.”

“I’m glad they did,” Harry says before he kisses Louis again, cupping his jaw in his hand, the last aftershocks of his laughter dying on Louis’ lips.

The kiss is infinitely soft, and not enough, so Louis kisses back with more force, bringing Harry closer with a hand on the nape of his neck, and he grins against Harry’s lips when he lets out a surprised puff of air through his nose.

“Do you…” Harry begins in between kisses. Louis’ heart does a somersault of anticipation. “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asks.

That is not where Louis thought his sentence would go.

“Hm, yeah, sure,” he replies, trying his best to hide his confusion.

Harry nods and fetches the television remote from between two couch cushions. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Whatever you want, I’m not picky.” Louis retrieves his brownies and resumes eating it, the ice cream now a soup at the bottom of his bowl.

Scrolling through their options for a while, Harry eventually chooses a romantic comedy and settles into the couch, smiling at Louis when their eyes meet. Louis watches the movie in silence for a while, stealing glances at Harry from time to time, lowering his gaze with a grin whenever their eyes meet.

“I have to say…” Louis begins, halfway through the movie; it’s the time it takes him to build the courage to ask. “I thought we were going to fuck.”

Harry shrugs. “The night is young. I didn’t want a repeat of last time. It felt cheap. I wanted… well, this is sort of a date.”

Louis’ confusion melts into an almost overwhelming wave of fondness. “Yes, you’re right, it is.”

Before he can overthink it, he scoots over to Harry and leans against his side. Immediately, Harry’s arm wraps around his shoulders. It nearly knocks the air out of Louis’ lung, how it makes him feel to be held like this. It’s closing things he didn’t even know were opened. Relaxing, he rests more of his weight against Harry and brings his attention back to the movie, soothed by the soft strokes of Harry’s hand on his arm.

“You’re going to make me fall asleep,” Louis mutters.

“That’s okay. I won’t kick you out if you do.”

“I’ve got to go back home, V’s with my mum.”

There’s a pause before Harry replies. “Could she spend the night there? Because… you could sleep here.”

Louis’ drowsiness subsides in an instant. “What?”

“You could sleep here…”

Louis grabs the remote and presses pause, turning to face Harry. “I don’t know.”

Harry nods. “I understand. I just thought I’d offer.”

Louis sighs and sits back in the couch, rubbing his clammy palms on his thighs. “It’s… I’d have to ask my kid. It’s her decision.”

Harry looks like he’s about to protest, but he says nothing.

“After what my ex did, she’s really insecure and she has pretty bad nightmares, sometimes. I don’t want her to feel like I’m abandoning her, too, you know? But I’ll call my mum’s, I’ll talk to her. She might enjoy the sleepover with her aunts, I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to go through all this just for me, though. It’s okay if you’d rather go back to Donny.”

Louis swallows, gathering his courage. “I want to stay.”

He gets up and heads down the hallway towards the kitchen to call his mother’s house. He stays vague when he talks to her, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing he’s maybe possibly about to have _something_ with Harry. Next, he talks to Violet, explaining the situation to her in as much details as he dares give her. She agrees to the sleepover, enthusiasm lacing her words, and Louis hangs up with a lighter heart.

“I’m staying,” he says as he returns to the living room.

A smile appears on Harry’s face. “I’m very, very happy.”

“You would be,” Louis replies. He goes back to his spot against Harry, smiling to himself. “Press play.”

An hour later, Louis yawns loudly as the credits roll across the screen. He lets out a small, self-conscious laugh. “Sorry, I’m a million years old.”

Harry turns off the television and strokes Louis’ back. “Don’t worry. I’m an early riser myself.”

“Not by choice, for me. I don’t remember the last time I slept in.”

Harry grimaces. “That sounds awful.”

Louis shrugs. “I’ve lived through worse. Like a divorce, for example.” He lets out a chuckle to show he’s not serious, mortified that his brain went to that example. He clears his throat. “What are we doing next?”

“I thought,” Harry begins, putting a hand on Louis’ knee. “I thought we could take this to the bedroom.”

Louis’ breath catches in his throat. “I think that’s a good idea,” he replies, ignoring the thundering rhythm of his heart.

Harry rises and takes Louis’ hand, guiding him towards his cramped, but neat bedroom. The double bed at the centre of the room takes most of the space and it’s where Harry leads them, sitting down and inviting Louis to do the same.

“So, this is it. Not as nice as yours, but yeah…”

“I like it,” Louis tells him, sincere. He looks at the pictures hanging from miniature clotheslines along the walls with a smile. “It’s charming, even.

Harry smiles, too, and reaches up to stroke Louis’ cheek. “You’re gorgeous, you know.”

Surprised, Louis lowers his gaze. “Hm… you are, too.”

Instead of answering, Harry leans forward and kisses Louis, coaxing a soft moan from the back of Louis’ throat. He kisses back, eager and hungry for it, and his heart goes wild when Harry lays them down on the bed, only briefly breaking the kiss to help with getting comfortable.

It’s better than any other date Louis’ been on since his divorce and so much more enjoyable than the last time with Harry now that he isn’t choking with guilt. It feels good to let Harry take the lead, to let him roll Louis on his back and press his chest on top of his as he kisses him. It’s exhilarating to witness how hungry Harry is for Louis, how he can’t seem to get enough of kissing him.

It hits Louis all at once as Harry is pushing his hands up his shirt while devouring his neck: he doesn’t want sex. He’s no in the mood, he’d rather they talk and just enjoy being together, and he absolutely doesn’t want this incredible night to be summarized by ‘and then they fucked.’

He gently pushes Harry away, shaking his head.

“I… I’m not in the mood for sex. I thought I was, but I’m not,” he says, biting back the apology that’s on the tip of his tongue.

Harry rolls off to lie next to him. “Okay. No worries.” He smiles at Louis. “You’re still invited to sleep over.” He pauses for a moment. “I think I prefer if we don’t, too. I don’t want to repeat the last time we got together.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, exactly. I want… I want _more_ than just fucking when we hang out.” The words tumble out before he can stop them. He stares intently at the ceiling as he feels his stomach tie up in a knot, holding his breath as he waits for Harry’s reply.

It must only take a few seconds for Harry to talk, but it feels to Louis like it stretched endlessly. “I want more, too. I want to take it slow to give it a chance to work.”

Relief washes over Louis and he turns on his side to look at Harry, pillowing his head with his arm. Harry mirrors him, smiling.

“Violet is my number one priority,” Louis states. “That’s non-negotiable. Everything I do will be filtered through what’s best for her.”

“As it should,” Harry replies, nodding solemnly.

Louis frowns. It’s too easy. “You’re very amenable.”

“I really want it to work.” Softly, barely touching, he runs his fingers up and down Louis’ arm. “I know you have a child, it’s not, like, a surprise. I’m not… it’s a delicate situation and you steer the boat, alright? I’m all in.”

“Why?” Louis asks, in disbelief. “I mean… we barely know who we’ve become.”

Harry shrugs. “I’ve never been able to get you out of my head. Not, like… every single day of my life for ten years, but a part of me, whenever I remembered you, felt like you could have been important in my life. Something big. I guess I like to follow my instinct.”

“You’ve always been so sweet,” Louis says, floored by Harry’s words. He strokes his cheek, marvelling at the smile it puts on Harry’s face. “I suppose it’s different for me. I pushed you out of my mind, I think. And… yeah, sometimes I’d think back to the fun we had together, but out of self-preservation, it wasn’t until I saw you’d be at the reunion that I really dwelled on it. But I thought I was putting too much meaning on our relationship, was I wrong?”

“You were very meaningful to me.”

A smile tugs at Louis’ lips. “Oh, well. You were too, even if I didn’t know it. I loved your attention.” He chuckles. “I was too in denial to admit why that was, though.”

“And now?”

Louis scrunches up his nose. “You know the answer to that.”

With a nod, Harry grimaces like Louis did. “I think I do.”

Louis laughs again. “Good, good because this is already campy enough without saying those words out loud.”

Softly, Harry runs his fingers through Louis’ hair, around his ear, stroking again and again with a delicate smile on his lips. It takes all that Louis has to not look away under the intense tenderness of his gaze, to lock their eyes and let the feelings overwhelm him, filling him to the brim, threatening to spill. His mind goes quiet and tension eases out of his body, and before he can stop it, a yawn disrupts the silence between them.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m ancient,” he blurts out, flustered. “You’re not boring.”

“It’s okay. We can have an early night, we’ll have more time tomorrow morning before you leave.”

“We could go for brunch. I haven’t in years.”

“I’ll make us brunch, if you prefer. I make a mean Hollandaise.” Harry winks.

“I have no idea what that is, but sure. Whatever you want.”

Harry sits up and gets off the bed. “Do you shower in the morning or at night? I shower at night, you can go after me if you want.”

Louis shakes his head. “Morning. Go, I’ll go watch telly while I wait.”

“I won’t be long,” Harry says before disappearing out of the room.

Stretching lazily, Louis gets off the bed and pads down the hallway to the living room, plopping down on the couch and turning on the television. When he’s found something good to watch, he reaches in his pocket for his phone.

_Miss you!_ _Goodnight, baby, sleep well!_ he texts Violet, adding several heart emojis before he sends it.

Next, he types a message to his mother: _Sorry I was brief, I wasn’t alone. It’s going well with Harry!!!!!! I’m freaking out!!!!!! But in a good way!!!! He’s perfect!!!!!_

She replies a few minutes later: _I TOLD YOU IT’D BE GOOD NOW BE SAFE_ , and a blush creeps up Louis’ face at the implications. His mother thinks he’ll—that they’ll—he _never_ wants his mother to think about him in _that_ way ever again.

_DON’T GO THERE_ , he replies before dropping his phone next to him and focusing on the television. When his phone chimes, he barely glances at it, only long enough to see his mother replied with a simple ‘ _lol_ ’. He rolls his eyes fondly.

Harry comes back a few minutes later, hair wild and damp, dripping darker spots on his shirt. “What are you watching?” he asks, leaning against the doorway.

“Nothing, really. Some sitcom.” Louis turns off the television. “Do you want help with our dishes?”

With a shake of his head, Harry smiles. “No, no, I’ll wash them tomorrow. Ready for bed?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Louis grabs his phone and joins Harry, following him to his bedroom and stripping out of his jeans before climbing into bed. He doesn’t miss the way Harry eyes him appreciatively. Louis keeps to his side of the bed and Harry does, too, and it’s uncomfortable; at least, that’s how Louis reads the situation.

“I’m not much of a sleep cuddler,” he says, staring at the ceiling. “I can’t sleep when someone touches me.”

“That’s alright,” Harry replies, soft and barely above a breath. “Good night, Louis.”

Louis smiles, glad that the darkness conceals his giddiness. “Good night, Harry.”

-

Leaving Manchester doesn’t feel as bad as Louis dreaded it would.

He woke up first and resisted the urge to watch Harry sleep by slipping out of bed to do their dishes. Harry joined him not long after and he pressed a kiss to the back of Louis’ neck before he started cooking breakfast for them, the gorgeous smell of eggs and bacon quickly filling the sunny kitchen. Their conversations stayed light, comfortable, fulfilling Louis’ dreams of domesticity. That single morning was everything Louis always hoped being married would be like.

He kept the memory of how he felt in that moment after he left and it lit a fire inside him—not a fire, no; a delicate flame that he worked hard to protect when the days stretched between their phone calls, their busy lives getting in the way. Louis is secure in the knowledge of what he hopes will come out of their fumbling beginnings, but he stays careful. Harry’s life is in Manchester and Louis’ is in Doncaster; it would be unfair to ask Harry to drop everything and move in with him and he could never uproot his daughter with a move to Manchester. At the moment, then, they’re tentatively getting used to the new dynamic between them, and yes, Louis wishes he could drive up to Manchester on a whim, but the phone calls help, even marginally. He worried that not settling on a label would make him anxious, but he likes the feeling of it, for now. It feels like his first adult relationship—despite having been married for nine years.

It’s been a month since his visit to Manchester, a month since he last saw Harry, but he’s fine. It’s fine, he’s confident in their commitment to taking things slowly, and it’s good that they do. Earlier in the week, Louis admitted on the phone that he would be willing to introduce Harry to Violet, and the solemnity in Harry’s voice when he replied told Louis he made a good decision: Harry understood what it meant.

It’s going really good, is what he’s saying.

His alarm clock wakes him up at seven and he groans when it rings, but he gets out of bed nonetheless and puts on his trainers to go for a jog. He has a reason to do it, now; he has something close to a _boyfriend_.

Despite the early hour, the neighbourhood is alive with Saturday morning activity and Louis waves at a few fellow joggers. He has that, now: jogging acquaintances. He barely knows who he is anymore. He feels energised that morning, so he lengthens his usual itinerary, pushing his muscles to their limit. He ends up having to walk the last block back home on wobbly legs, but he’s satisfied with his performance.

From a distance, he spots someone sitting on his porch and he frowns, his anxiety levels spiking as he thinks of Violet, alone inside. Clifford is there, the dog is always there when Louis leaves her to jog, but it’s a Labradoodle, so Louis doubts its guard dog abilities.

He speeds up as much as his weakened legs will let him and he realises it’s a man that’s sitting on his porch. His heart jumps in his throat for a second and then it flutters and leaps: the man is Harry. Harry is sitting on his porch at eight on a Saturday morning, unannounced and unexpected, and Louis breaks into a jog to close the distance between them.

“Hey,” he pants when he reaches his front yard. “You scared the shit out of me, I thought someone was trying to break in.”

Harry stands up, his smile bright and wide. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you were awake so I texted you instead of ringing. I see it was useless.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I don’t take my phone with me.” Louis breathes in deeply and smiles. “Hi,” he says, dragging the word with a smile that hurts his cheeks. “I… what a—what are you doing here?” he asks, different questions fighting to get out. “It’s really early?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I thought… I was in the mood for brunch, but… it’s okay if it’s too early to meet your daughter, I won’t mind, I just felt like doing something reckless because I missed you. If it’s too early, I’ll go see my step-nan, so feel no pressure, okay?”

Louis swallows, staring at Harry in amazement. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how open Harry is with his feelings.

“I… hm…” Louis rambles, “It’s fine, it’s not too early, not at all. I missed you, too,” he adds, getting closer and leaning up to kiss Harry chastely, wondering if anyone saw them. Hoping someone did. “Let’s go in.”

“Let me grab my bags,” he says and it’s then that Louis notices the tote bags on the porch. “I brought breakfast supplies. I didn’t know what Violet liked so I got a bit of everything.”

Louis kisses him again, overcome with emotions. “You’re…” he shakes his head, abandoning his sentence to instead unlock the front door.

The television is on so he calls Violet’s name. “I’m home!”

“Daddy, there’s a man on our porch!” she calls back from the living room.

“Yeah, it’s okay, come here, I’ll introduce you.”

She comes to the hall, hair messy from sleep and still in her pyjamas, and Louis presses a kiss to the top of her head, smoothing the back of her skull at the same time.

“Violet, this is my friend Harry. I told you about him, remember? He’s my friend who had the photography show in Manchester last month. You know his mother, Anne?”

“Hi, Harry,” she replies with a wave, staying close to Louis’ side.

“Hey, Violet. It’s a honour to meet you.” Harry keeps his voice soft. “I brought stuff to make breakfast, do you want to go help me choose what to make while your dad showers? He stinks,” he says, scrunching up his nose.

Louis huffs in protest while Violet bursts out laughing and heads for the kitchen. Louis holds Harry back for a second, his hand on his arm.

“I’m really glad you’re here. You’re perfect with her.” He kisses Harry, lingering against his lips.

“I’m good with Tomlinsons,” Harry replies, returning the kiss. “Now, seriously, go shower. The smell is appalling.”

Louis pushes him for good measure and then heads upstairs, a grin permanently etched on his face. He doesn’t think it’ll fade anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> To see the wonderful art I was gifted, and to reblog to make me happy, head on over to [Tumblr](https://scrunchyharry.tumblr.com/post/172856555474/signsandwonders)!


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